


Between Lives

by allonsysilvertongue



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: 50th Hunger Games, F/M, Quarter Quell, There'll be other characters I won't tag them all, chapters that are potentially triggering has warning at the start of each chapter, seam, this is thg so it comes with its own trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:45:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 59,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4851584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsysilvertongue/pseuds/allonsysilvertongue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A boy from the Seam, a tribute who won against insurmountable odds, an unwilling mentor and a rebel mastermind. A snap shot of different aspect and centred around Haymitch's life. A collection of one-shots, timelines are random. I accept prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of an End

**Author's Note:**

> I was overwhelmed by Haymitch feels and there were a lot of things about Haymitch I wanted to know. His life before the Games. His relationship to Katniss' parents, to Hazelle Hawthorne, and if they were friends/classmates, and if they are, how he ended by alone with only alcohol for company. I wondered about his relationship with his brother and his family, and what went through his mind when he saw Maysilee's pin on Katniss. And since Lionsgate forgot he exist, I'll just sit here and write fanfiction about it.
> 
> You can leave me prompts on here or tumblr! Hayffie prompts will be posted in the Ballad, this is for Haymitch :))

 

**The Beginning of an End**

The stars were always bright in District Twelve. As he lay in his cot, staring out of the open window with its parted curtains, he wonder if it was just as bright everywhere else, especially in the Capitol. He tried to banish this line of thought but it was always the same, year after year, the night before the Reaping. The same thoughts swirled in his mind; this could be his last night in Twelve; last night in the Seam; last night on his small, hard bed; the last night he would be spending in his house.

"Haymitch?" a soft voice whispered in the dark.

He turned his head slightly to the left to see a pair of bright gray eyes staring at him shining with anxiety and fear.

"C'mere, then," he pulled the ends of his thin blanket and invited his brother in bed, not for the first time.

His brother had a habit of crawling into bed with him since he was a toddler, a fact that both filled with him pride that he was chosen over his mother and one that puzzled him that his brother would take comfort from him.

"I'm scared."

Haymitch chuckled, putting up a front. He was scared, too, tonight more than all the other four nights before a Reaping. An ominous cloud had hung over his head since morning and he couldn't shake it off this time. Perhaps his end was near. He had been lucky before, but luck was never anyone's friend here in Twelve.

"Why's that? Your name's not in that bowl yet. You've got five more years to go."

"Not for me." Lief replied, adjusting his head until he found a comfortable spot on Haymitch's shoulder. "I'm scared for you."

"Don't."

"It's twice the number of tributes this year, Mitchie. I know 'cause mama told me. She's scared too, I think. I see the way she looks at you when you ain't looking."

Anyone else, he would have punched them in the face for that nickname, but with Lief, he let it slipped. His brother didn't use it to ridicule or to make fun of him. He used it with adoration.

"Maybe I'll be lucky. Been lucky for four times, haven't I?" he shrugged. "Go to sleep, Lief. Mama won't be happy if she knows you stayed up too late. It'll show. You'll have bags under your eyes."

Morning dawned bright and early, and with it a somber mood descended upon the district. The people had barely roused from bed but everyone acted as if a funeral was underway. He supposed that was true, in a sense.

At the train station, Twelve's escort, Amara Varvari, stepped off the train and sniffed the coal dusted air disdainfully, finding such offense with the polluted air. She marched towards the Justice Building, finding it necessary to ensure that everything would be in order for the later.

In the Seam, in every household, worried parents fretted over their children, each thinking that they could lose a child that day.

"Eat your bread, Haymitch."

"I'm not hungry," he mumbled. "Have it, Lief."

His mother sighed but said little else. She hovered near him, today more so than usual, an unconscious act as if she was unwilling to let him go. Her eyes flicked to the wall clock ever so often, counting down to the inevitable hour. They only had minutes to spare, having spent more than hour in bed together that morning; him, his brother and his mother. Mama had pillowed his head and stroked his hair, running her fingers through the messy knot as she smiled down at him indulgently while he told his brother a joke.

"Is it time?" asked Lief.

"Yeah," he sighed heavily and pushed his chair back.

Haymitch stood in front of the mirror as his mother attacked his hair, forcefully combing it and trying to flatten the mess of curls with water, hoping that wet hair would be easier to tame. He frowned but allowed his mother to fuss over him. It could very well be the last time.

Haymitch pushed that thought away.

"Button your shirt."

"No one will notice, Mama."

"I will, now do as I ask."

With a grunt, he complied. When he was done and raised his head, his mother was looking at him through the mirror. Their gaze caught. He took the sight of the crow's feet, the slight wrinkle on her forehead and the greys on his mother temple. She was growing old and the harsh living condition in the Seam was doing her no favours.

He smiled and she returned it.

"Mama," he turned to face her. "If they call my name – "

That possibility proved too much for his mother who broke her gaze briefly, swallowing, but to her credit, she did not try to mollify him by telling him that he would be safe, for which he was glad. He wasn't a child anymore, forced to grow up by his circumstances.

"- don't you let Lief take  _any_  tesserae. You promise me."

"Haymitch…"

"No, mama. You don't. You can mend clothes, do laundry for the neighbours or clean their house. If they call my name, you've only got yourself and him to feed. You can manage. You teach him to survive like you did with me; teach him to paint or to mend broken things. He can be a fixer. People will pay him for it. Don't let him take any tesserae."

His mother said nothing but pulled him close and wrapped her arms tight around her eldest son. He had grown so much taller than her and he had to stoop down a little to return her embrace. He buried his face on her shoulder, clinging to her as he would as a little boy.

"Don't say goodbye," his voice rough. "Not now. Not yet."

She nodded and squeezed his eyes shut. "Don't you talk as if you're not coming back with us today, boy."

Haymitch stepped back, a wry smile on his lips. "It could happen, you must be prepared for it. Four names this year, mama," he said but he kissed his mother's cheek and grabbed Lief's hand.

The three of them walked in silent towards the Square.

"Hey," Myra smiled, waving her hand at him when she saw them approached. "Hello, Mrs. Abernathy, hello Lief."

"Hey," he winked as he usually would when they met each other before going to school together.

"Ready?" she asked once his family and Myra's own had gone off to wait at the cordoned area meant for families.

He shrugged nonchalantly and reached for her hand. He held his head high with every step he took into the Square. They joined the queue, waiting for their fingers to be pricked and their names registered.

"You're awfully quiet," Myra commented.

"I've got a bad feeling," he admitted after a while.

She squeezed his hand, opened her mouth to say something but was promptly distracted when Hazelle Miller joined them in line.

"Hello, Hazelle," Myra greeted their schoolmate.

Haymitch nodded politely at Hazelle. There wasn't much time for a proper conversation because he was up next. He offered his index finger with bored indifference and watched as Myra did the same.

"I'll see you later," Myra whispered, pressing a kiss to his lips. Hazelle averted her gaze, giving them some privacy.

The two girls went to the right to join the others in their district. He went to the left with the other boys waiting in their pen.

On his way over, he heard raised voices and saw the Dorner twins, gold hair shining bright under the sun in a heated conversation with their best friend Iris, another merchant girl. He lifted his head to glance at them briefly, nodded at them by way of greeting and hurried over to stand next to Aspen Everdeen who had raised his hand to wave at Iris, grinning sheepishly.

"What are the odds you think?"

Haymitch pinched his lips and did not answer. Something unsettling was swirling in the pit of his stomach and a conversation about their odds was the last thing he wanted partake in.

"Welcome, welcome, to the 50th Annual Hunger Games!" Amara Varvari's voice boomed throughout the Square and a hush silence fell over everyone in attendance. "This year is a very special year, oh an extremely special year indeed! It's the Second Quarter Quell and four of you lucky boys and girls will be chosen to represent your district for the honour and the glory."

Haymitch snorted.

"Let's begin, shall we?" the woman squinted. She was in a hurry, Haymitch knew, before all her make-up melted under the harsh District Twelve heat. "Ladies first."

He turned his head to the right, his eyes scanning the crowd of girls, looking for the familiar dark hair tied into a ponytail. Myra was looking for him too and when they saw each other, Haymitch smirked. She grinned.

"Aster Thomson!"

A shriek could be heard in the back, a desperate wailing. A girl, fourteen years of age, walked slowly to the front. Haymitch had seen her around. Everyone had seen everyone around at some point in this small district.

He was glad it was not Myra.

"Now, for the boys."

His heart was hammering in his chest.  _Don't call my name. Don't call my name,_  he chanted the mantra silently in his head like he had all those previous years as if it would form a shield between him and the escort. _Don't call –_

"Allan Carter!"

He breathed a sigh of relief. He could not even summon it within himself to ashamed or to feel bad for Allan who left behind a mother, an older brother whom Haymitch noticed had not volunteered, and two younger sisters.

"Maysilee Donner!"

Next to him, Aspen sucked in a breath.

"No!" a cried rose above the din. That was Iris followed by a loud thud. Maysilee's twin sister had fainted. NAspen Everdeen shifted, torn between going to his girl, Iris and staying put.

Like Aspen, Haymitch was staring at the commotion so much so that he completely failed to register his name until he saw Aspen staring at him, mouth agape.

"She called your name."

His head snapped towards the escort standing at the stage, scanning the crowd. She read from the piece of paper again.

"Haymitch Abernathy."

He stared and he stared, his ears buzzing. The boys were looking at him and by now, so was Amara.

"Well, come up here now," she waggled her fingers, beckoning him over, a horrid smile on her face.

Haymitch stayed rooted to the spot, his feet unwilling to walk him to his death.

"Haymitch," Aspen jostled him. "You got to go. They'll drag you otherwise, don't let them humiliate you that way."

"My brother…" he croaked.

"I'll look out for him," Aspen promised. "I'm sorry, Haymitch, I'm sorry."

He was. Aspen was sorry, but there was no denying the relieved in his voice knowing he was not one of the two boys called up this year.

Haymitch gave him a curt nod and stepped out of the crowd. He could hear Myra pushing the crowd trying to get to him. He could hear Lief calling his name, heard the Peacekeepers moved to block his way.

He refused to look back to where he knew his mother and brother would be, their faces most likely shrouded with despair and helplessness. He was the head of their family, he fed them and clothed them, and now he would be gone.

He had to walk or he would lose heart. There would be time for goodbyes.

In the Capitol, he learnt the stars bright glow died against the city's illuminating, ever present florescent light.  _Fitting_ , he thought. Everything died here in the city.

=


	2. Before His Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to say that since it's a collection of one-shot that I'm writing, the timeline will not be in chronological order.

 

**Before His Brother**

It wasn't so much of a bedroom but a corner of their house separated by a thin sheet that made up Haymitch's room. Lachlan Abernathy parted the sheet and slipped in quietly. He gazed down at the face of his son, taking in the smooth skin and the speck of dust smudged on his nose.

Lachlan raised a hand, thick calloused fingers brushing the side of the boys' face. "I know you ain't sleeping," he murmured. "You're breathing too quick."

Haymitch tried but he couldn't fight the grin. He blinked his eyes open and stared up at his father.

"I was waiting for you," he sat up. "Did you just get back?"

"Told you not to," Lachlan answered.

"You know I have to see you before I sleep – to keep away the bad dreams," Haymitch told his father earnestly in that innocent belief that only a child possessed, as if his father could protect him from every harm in this world.

"Hmmm."

They had developed a ritual, his father and him. Every night, his father would sit by his cot, brushing his fingers against Haymitch's brows and down his cheeks, and he would kiss Haymitch's forehead while wishing his son a pleasant dream in that gruff, low baritone of his. Lachlan was not an affectionate man by nature; rough around the edges and closed-off, a man of very little words. But each night, without fail, he afforded his son some form of tenderness. Haymitch knew he would get a kiss from his father, only that one kiss reserved for him when the sun had set and the darkness surrounded them.

Haymitch touched the spot on his forehead.

"What will you dream tonight?" his father peered at him. "Tell me."

Haymitch spun a tale. He learnt to fill in the silence in his father's presence with stories he made up, his imagination often being the source of delight to his parents. He didn't know it yet at this age, but years from now, this "skill" became persuasive enough for him to convince a Gamemaker to change the rules.

"I'll dream that you'd come home early after you're done with work at the mines tomorrow and that you won't have to do some other extra job so you can push me on the swing, like you used to. Mama'll watch."

"You're a big boy, Haymitch. You're nearly nine. You don't need me to push you on that swing, son. You gotta learn to do things by yourself, yeah?"

His face crumpled slightly and it must be evident to his father who said, "You're going to be a big brother. It's gonna be  _your_  job to push your little brother or sister on that swing, you hear me?"

"Yes, father," he nodded gravely, already taking his role seriously.

He had waited and he had counted for the days to come. It had been months and Mama promised the day was nearing. Mama had gotten so big and heavy.

"Go to sleep now."

"Will you stay with me?"

Lachlan squeezed his shoulder and stood up. "I've got somethin' to do."

Haymitch knew his father was lying but he pressed his lips together and lay back down without another word. Outside, in their kitchen, he heard his father's heavy movements opening and closing cupboards. He heard the bottles clinked against each other and the sound of a cork opening. He listened to his father's footsteps – three steps exactly – for him to cross their small shack from the kitchen to the living room.

In the morning, Haymitch would find his father sleeping on the couch, a bottle in hand and he would rouse his father, fingers pinching his nose because he hated that foul smell each time his father drank, but he would insist on being the one to wake his father up all the same so the man could send him to school on the way to the mines.

Early morning and late at night was Haymitch's favourite time of the day. It meant a few personal minutes with his father who was always away working.

XxX

After school was spent helping his mother or if his mother didn't need him, he would play with the other boys in the Seam.

Today, Haymitch pulled a chair and sat, waiting patiently for his mother. Mama waddled to the table, folding clothes she had sown and mended. She arranged them carefully in a basket and pushed it towards Haymitch.

"This one goes to the Donner. You know where they live, yes?"

He did, of course, he did. He had ventured into Town sometimes. Haymitch hauled the basket, nearly dropping it at his feet. It was too big and heavy for his small frame.

Isla Abernathy walked her son to the front door. "I would do it but – "

"It's okay," Haymitch expelled a breath.

His eyes fell on his mother's stomach. Not for the first time, he wondered again if his mother might have swallowed a huge ball. How big was his baby sister or brother going to be? His mother's stomach looked huge, slightly disproportionate to his child's eyes and Haymitch was afraid he wouldn't be able to push his little sibling on the swing if he or she was too big. The swing might crack and hurt the poor child, he thought. He couldn't have that.

The walk to Town took longer than Haymitch expected since he had to pause every so often with the basket on his feet, trying to catch his breath. He had a wagon last time but his father had sold it away and they never did get round to making a new one.

"Hey, Mitchie," a boy waved at him as he ran after a ball.

Haymitch frowned. He hated that name.

As the boy approached, a ring of laughter accompanied him. "What's that you've got, Mitch? Looks like it's draggin' your sorry ass to earth – you've got no strength."

"Clothes," Haymitch mumbled and almost defensively, he said, "and it's heavy."

"Well, come on then," Aspen Everdeen shrugged, tucking the dirty worn out ball under one arm. He lifted one end of the basket and Haymitch the other.

"What do you want?" Haymitch queried, thinking that it was better to get it out of the way.

"Nothing – just helping."

"Sure you'd want something," Haymitch brows furrowed. A look passed between them and Aspen understood. Haymitch didn't want to owe Aspen any favours.

"Some of whatever they pay you with or you can do my math homework."

"Okay, I'll do your homework," Haymitch agreed easily.

The Donner usually pay with food and with his mother pregnant, he wasn't willing to part with whatever edible things he could get. Together they walked to Town, faces covered with coal dust, heaving and panting under the sun.

True enough, Mrs. Donner paid Haymitch with five potatoes for the mended clothes. He grinned happily, keeping them in the sack. Haymitch followed Aspen back to his house to collect his friend's homework and left, promising to meet him tomorrow before school start with the completed worksheets.

"Five potatoes, mama," Haymitch showed his mother.

"Good," Isla nodded. "Good. That should last us a few days. Go on to the back and I'll show you how to boil them."

His mother tire easily nowadays and that was proven when she dropped heavily on a stool where she proceeded to teach and direct him.

Haymitch washed two potatoes and kept the rest. He lighted the coal, filled the pot with water and salt which he realized they were running low on, and mentally made a note to ask Hazelle at school tomorrow if he could have some salt in exchange for doing her school work. She didn't like science - maybe he could do that for her.

While waiting for it to boil, Haymitch did his homework while his mother watched.

"Two of the same work? Whose book is that?"

"Aspen's," he answered without looking up. "He helped me earlier. I didn't want to give him our food. They're for you and the baby, so I told him, I said  _"I'll do your homework.'_ "

Isla shook her head, a shadow of regret on her face. "You are a smart boy, Haymitch. Your teacher told me so and I can see it for myself. And you're using your intelligence to help us, to get us food… What can I say? What can I do? It shouldn't be your job; you shouldn't have to worry about this. You're still so young… I wish things were different," his mother lamented.

Haymitch looked up, frowning. "You said we gotta do what we can to survive," he quoted her. "I promise I won't get caught. My teacher won't know what I've done. See, I'm going to purposely give a wrong answer on Aspen's paper so the answers on his and mine won't be the same. Our teacher won't notice that."

The rueful smile she gave her only child went unnoticed. "I think we can check the potatoes now."

Haymitch complied. He tiptoed to get a better look, poking them with his ladle. He had no idea what he was doing but Mama said that the potatoes would be ready when they were tender.

Behind him, his mother laughed quietly. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at the look on his mother's face.

"Bring the pot over," she beckoned. "Careful… Take a fork for me."

He watched attentively as Mama showed him. Once it was drained and cooled, Mama sliced a potato in half and gave the bigger half to him.

"We keep one for your father for tonight."

He nodded and stuffed his face with the food, happy that tonight he could go to sleep without suffering hunger pangs.

"You can cook for your little brother now," she smiled, resting her hand on her stomach. "You know how."

"Brother?"

"It's a boy, I can feel it."

He grinned. "Good. We're gonna be great friends – I'll teach him to climb the trees. Maybe catch the tadpoles behind the house."

"Don't you get him in trouble, Haymitch!" Isla chuckled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've developed a little fondness for 9 year old Haymitch.
> 
> Thanks for reading! You can leave me a prompt, if you like :))


	3. We Do What We Must

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anon: Hey :) Could you write a one-shot where Haymitch tells Effie a little bit about his reaping? As a sign of trust maybe? Today's piece inspired me to ask this. Thanks!

 

She was angry, he knew.

 

Haymitch had heard about it from Plutarch who told him that Effie had not been pleased to find herself in District Thirteen. He kept from Plutarch his increasing suspicion that there were other reasons that was causing her anger.

 

Effie was cross with the fact that he had hid it all from her, that Peeta was left behind, that she was ill-prepared and that he was here, sequestered away to be detoxified while she was out there with Katniss out of their reach without an inkling on how to reach out to the girl.

 

Effie Trinket was livid because felt useless with no clear idea on the role she had to play in this place. She hated feeling useless above all else.

 

Once or twice, Haymitch had wondered how long her anger would keep her away from him.  He would count the days except he kept drifting in and out of consciousness to be fully aware of the time of the day. Still, she came one day, much to his surprise, sliding into his room quietly and sitting next to his bed.

 

“I don’t know what you expect from me by bringing me here. I’m not a rebel. I'm not like you or Katniss, or Peeta. I’m not brave,” she whispered, almost ashamed to accept this flaw of hers. “I can’t… I can’t be a _part_ of a Revolution. That’s what Plutarch says this is – a revolution.”

 

He stared, bunching the beanie in his hands. “Who said anything ‘bout me being brave?”

 

“Standing up against President Snow… Defying him… You’re behind this Rebellion…. I believe all of that takes courage. Does it not?”

 

Haymitch scoffed. “Maybe I did it ‘cause I was afraid. I haven’t got anything to lose before but maybe I do now,” he admitted it quietly, and only to her would he admit that out loud.

 

“Katniss and Peeta,” she nodded in understanding. Still, she gave him a cutting look. “You don't look like someone who’s afraid, Haymitch. The only time I've seen you afraid was when Peeta was left behind otherwise you’re just… indifferent. You district people… You have a certain resilient which we lack.”

 

“You musn’t have seen my first Reaping then,” he chuckled, surprising himself that he was even broaching this subject voluntarily.

 

“I - I did,” Effie nodded, casting him a cautious look. She had never told him this but since they were talking about it, it seemed like a good time as any. “Before I was officially appointed as your escort, Amara –“

 

At the mention of his old escort, Haymitch made a face. If Effie was a challenge that intrigued him immensely, Amara was a puzzle he never wanted to approach with a ten foot pole. He doubted Effie knew that he was somewhat relieved when Effie walked through the Justice Building and told him that he was Amara’s replacement, well, the relieve was short lived once he realized what an oddity she was.

 

“Amara insisted I must learn all I can about you. We started with your Reaping.”

 

Haymitch pinched the bridge of his nose, picturing the two Capitol women sitting next to each other discussing _him_ behind his back. He could only imagine all the foul things Amara must have told Effie about him prior to their first meeting.

 

But he was tired and he didn’t want to know the details, and since he was fighting hard trying to flush the alcohol out of his system, he couldn’t muster the strength in him to be angry at the thought.

 

“Even at 16, you didn't look afraid. You look shocked, yes, which is understandable, but you marched your way up at that stage with your head –“

 

“I was afraid,” he cut her off. “I was fucking afraid, sweetheart. I woke up that morning knowing that if my luck ran out and my name was called, I won’t be coming back. I wasn’t afraid for me but for Lief…”

 

“Lief..? Your brother?” she scooted closer and the warmth of her thigh pressing against his side made him want to snuggle closer. He was always so cold in here.

 

Haymitch swallowed and nodded. “For my mother, too, and what me being reaped would do to them. Lief was only 7. He already lost his father and he thought he was going to lose me, too.”

 

Effie’s brows wrinkled slightly remembering the unedited footage she saw a long time ago. She remembered a boy at the back, mouth opened in a surprise silent scream, pushing through the crowd to get to Haymitch. She remembered the boy being shoved roughly by the guns of Peacekeepers, stumbling back and falling hard as a woman tugged him back to his feet.

 

He waited to see if she had anything more to say on that subject but all she did was to give him a small smile. The subject of his past and his family was still a sensitive one and Effie was not willing to press for more.

 

“It’s okay if you’re scared,” he said quietly. “I told you about my Reaping so you’d know that sometimes you just got to do what you need to do for people who need you or when the situation demands it of you. I brought you here because I trust you’d do everything you can for Katniss and Peeta. I can’t do this alone, sweetheart.”

 

She nodded and inhaled deeply. “You see, Haymitch, that's the thing about people like you, you're always worrying  about someone else, you're always afraid about what will happen to someone else that you forgot to feel scared for yourself. I'm not like you. I’ll never be like you. I'm too selfish,” she cast her gaze down as she tucked the thin blanket around him. “But you’re right, Katniss and Peeta… They’re ours, and I’ll help you every way I can.”

 

He grabbed her wrist gently before she could stand up. “I can be selfish, too,” he bore his gaze into hers imploringly.

 

The blush crept up her neck and Haymitch lay back down with a smirk on his lips, counting down the hours before she would visit him again.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the upcoming chapter, you'll see how Amara treats a 16 year old Haymitch and the tributes.


	4. Meeting Chaff Johnson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by typicalRAinbow: Ah what a good idea! look forward to the next. Please may I request Meeting Chaff for the first time as a tribute and then again as a victor?

The holding room was a riot of colour and for a pair of eyes so used to the grey smokes swirling from the mines, the dirty white walls of his house in the Seam and the cloudy brown earth where he spent sixteen years running and pounding his feet on, the colours hurt his vision.

 

Amara waltz up to them, giving out orders.

 

“I want a pair - a girl and a boy to a chariot – am I clear?” Amara instructed and when none of them moved, she gesticulated widely, waving her hand fan at them. “What are you waiting for? Standing around looking stupidly at me like that isn’t going to make _any_ of you a Victor,” she laughed airily as if she had just made the funniest joke in the country before she fixed her gaze on Aster, the youngest tribute from Twelve this year. “Certainly not you, dear, you’re too small. Your odds are stacked high up against you.”

 

“Don’t say that to her,” Maysilee frowned.

 

“Get in the chariot, girl.”

 

Maysilee recognised the dismissal and huffed angrily at being bossed around. She stepped up on the chariot followed by Allan which left Haymitch with Aster. She glanced up at him and smiled timidly. Haymitch sighed but with a gently hand on her shoulder navigated Aster to an empty chariot.

 

“Go on then,” he nodded, “I’ll join you in a second. I wanna look around for a bit.”

 

It was an unconscious act but one that merited Amara’s wrath, nonetheless. His eyes were itching so he swept his hand over them, trying to rub the irritant away when he was promptly and roughly hit on the head by Amara’s fan which she had folded by now.

 

“Ow – watch it!” he growled.

 

“Do not mess your make up,” she screeched. “Keep your hand firmly to your sides. Do not touch your face or that costume. Have you any idea how much that cost? Ruffians - all of you. I don’t except you to be able to appreciate the finer things in life but the least you could do is not to destroy what we have put on you.”

 

Haymitch bristled. He hated the way Amara made it sound as if he or any of the tributes here owed her and the Capitol any favours. He didn’t ask to be draped in cloths that could probably feed half the Seam for weeks. He didn’t ask to be scrubbed down and clean when he would rather spent another day with his brother with dirt under his nails.

 

“Nobody’s gonna recognise us with this on our faces,” he retorted, gesturing at his face. Haymitch had no idea what the stylist had used but all four of their faces were covered with black powder to signify coal dust. “Isn’t it the point of this parade - for people to get to know us? They can’t even _see_ us.”

“Don’t be smart with me. I don’t like your tone, not at all. You’re miners, aren’t you? Act like it,” Amara glared at him, pursing her lips in annoyance and turned on her heels.

 

“Bitch,” Haymitch muttered loud for his escort to hear and heard him she did for she threw him a disdainful look.

 

For a brief moment, he regretted it. He should probably try to be on her good side, he thought, until he remembered that escort could not seal deals with sponsors so he forego the niceties and stomped off in the opposite direction. Haymitch wandered around, moving further and further away from where Aster was still waiting for him at the chariot.

 

“You kissed your mother with that mouth?” a voice chuckled. The man pushed himself off one of District Eleven’s chariot where he had been leaning with his arms crossed. “Been watching you – your fight with your escort is probably one of the entertaining highlight for tonight. I dare say even more entertaining that this tribute parade we’re about to have. For me, at least.”

 

Haymitch spun and watched warily as a tall, dark skinned boy who couldn’t be more than four to five years older than Haymitch was, walked purposely towards him. There was a mischievous smile on his face but Haymitch stood there, tense.

 

“Relax,” he clapped Haymitch’s shoulder once he was near enough. “Amara’s a difficult one. I’m not surprised you can’t stand her.” He leaned in closer and whispered inconspicuously in Haymitch’s ear, “Though if you do win this, you’re gonna be stuck with her for a while, for a _long_ while.”

 

“Chaff,” Haymitch took a step back at the flicker of recognition, eyes trained on the Victor. “I know who you are - won the 45th Games, didn’t you?”

 

“Aha, you ain’t that dumb after all – good for you,” he laughed loudly and extended his left hand, or what was left of his left hand for a handshake, on purpose. Haymitch visibly staggered back, his eyes flicked to Chaff’s right hand – the hand he should have offered in the first place. It only made Chaff laugh harder before he dropped it, raising his right hand instead.

 

Haymitch shook it.

 

“Chaff Johnson.”

 

“Haymitch… Haymitch Abernathy.”

 

They seized each other up. At Haymitch’s unwavering gaze as he stared down the twenty year old victor, Chaff broke into a guffaw.

 

“You’re really something,” Chaff waggled a finger. “I can see it in you. We’ll see if _that_ spirit can help you pass the cornucopia.”

 

Haymitch stiffened, suddenly very attentive. “Cornucopia? What about it?”

 

Chaff winked. “That’s always the blood bath, isn’t it? You should know what to do or what _not_ to do when you know where the blood bath’s going to be. Everyone smart enough should know that. That’s what I tell _all_ my tributes.”

 

 _Avoid it_ , Haymitch answered quietly. _Avoid the bloodbath._

 

“Well, you better get back to your chariot,” Chaff nodded when the District One chariot began moving out. “See you around,” he winked.

 

For the first time since he stepped into the Capitol, Haymitch managed a genuine smile.

 

XxX

 

Amara Varvari peered down at him. Haymitch stared back at the blotched of purple clouding his vision.

 

He wanted to get rid of the colours. He hated the colours. Weakly, he raised his hand and tried to swat it away.

 

“Oh, how rude,” the woman huffed. “He’s trying to destroy my hair.”

 

“Did you actually watch his Games? You’re lucky he’s not trying to kill you with the way you look right now. Colourful things aren’t such good reminders for this year’s Victor in particular.”

 

That voice sounded familiar. Haymitch tried to place it but with everything else, he was finding it difficult to even discern where he was at the moment. He was groggy and his tongue felt like lead.

 

“I’ve no idea what you mean. Well!” she announced loudly, “In any case, Haymitch’s awake.”

 

Haymitch thought that this must be the first time that his escort had used his name, Reaping not included. Otherwise, it was always ‘he’ or ‘the boy’ or ‘the tribute’.

 

“I shall arrange for an interview. A victor,” she gushed, “a victor from this underdog district! My time has arrived.”

 

“Oh, go away, Amara,” a gruff voice interrupted. “He’s barely conscious. Go make yourself useful someplace else. This is a hospital and your voice alone should have gotten you kicked out a long time ago.”

 

The two raised voices arguing amongst themselves persisted for a little while longer before the room was suddenly quiet. Deeming it safe, Haymitch turned his head slightly to get a better idea of where he was but the movement only caused him to groan audibly in pain.

 

A hand pushed his shoulder down.

 

“Easy,” Chaff said, “easy there. Hey, Mags, I think he’s alright this one. He’s fighting to sit up. Look at him, look at him.”

 

Chaff sounded amused, maybe even proud. A second face swam onto his vision. It was a kind face with warm eyes and a friendly smile peering down at him.

 

“Oh, you poor boy,” the woman, Mags, brushed his hair back. “Don’t fight it. Don’t fight it too soon. You wake up now and the vultures outside will get to you. Rest now, Haymitch, you don’t want to meet them, not yet.”

 

“Mama,” he croaked. “Can I speak to ma – “

 

“When you’re better,” Chaff told him, pulling a chair next the bed and dropped on it. “We’ll see about calling home for you. You got a family?”

 

Despite the haze of medicine, there was something in Chaff’s tone that made Haymitch focused all of his attention on him.

 

Haymitch nodded. “Mum and a little brother.”

 

Chaff exchanged a look with Mags which went unnoticed by Haymitch.

 

“Alright,” Chaff patted his arm. “I’m sure they’re excited to welcome you home so why don’t you go to sleep, rest up so you’ll heal faster. Bet you can’t wait to go home now that you’re a victor, eh?”

 

“I don’t feel like a Victor,” Haymitch mumbled, the sharp ache in his stomach was becoming unbearable by the minute.

 

How was he even alive? It was starting to come back and the first thing he remembered so vividly was the swing of the axe on to his stomach followed by the explosion of pain. He remembered clutching his innards and running, running as far away from possible.

 

“You and me both, kid, you and me both. In fact,” Chaff leaned down to whisper in his ear like he had the first time they met, “nobody ever felt like a Victor but you keep that to yourself, eh?”

 

“It hurts a lot,” he mumbled incoherently.

 

“I’d offer you a drink but you’ve got something better – you’ve got morphling hooked on you,” Chaff chuckled. “I think I’ll stay with him for a little while, Mags.”

 


	5. The Mentor That Groomed A Victor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by marizpe: I have a prompt for Between Lives I hope you like the idea, I want to know who was Haymitch mentor because district 12 hadnt victors or better say any victors alive. (Maybe was Chaff his mentor?) And what advice the mentor told Haymitch for his training and interview. Thank you! =)

 

**The Mentor That Groomed a Victor**

Haymitch drummed his fingers impatiently against the hand rest, staring at Maysilee who was staring back at him before his gaze shifted to Allan who had a plate full of chocolates and finally at Aster studying a potted flower so intently and wondering out loud why there were fake flowers.

He was jittery and for good reasons. They had left District Twelve hours ago and they have yet to meet their mentors. His only connection to the Capitol right now was the escort who couldn't even keep their names straight, and  _that_  was not a good sign of what was to come. No wonder nobody in Twelve ever win the Games.

"Where's our mentor?"

"I already told you – we're picking your mentor on the way to the Capitol," Amara gave him the side eye.

"Just want to make sure you haven't forgotten," he retorted.

According to Amara, and Haymitch had to be persistent in order to purge the information out of her, Twelve would usually pick up the mentor on their way to the Capitol from the loaning district that year. This year, it fell on District Four to loan District Twelve two mentors and if that was not possible, at least one.

The policy of loaning mentors to districts without one rotated amongst the districts year after year; District Twelve would get from District One in one year, District Two the next, so on and so forth. The cycle would only be broken until the year Twelve could produce a Victor. District One and Two had the heaviest burden, often having to loan mentors to more than one district but personally, Haymitch thought they could afford it.

The train pulled up to District Four and Haymitch moved to the window, craning out to get a better look.

"Do you see anything?" Aster asked.

"Nothing yet," he replied. Aster had kept close to him for some reason, perhaps because she knew Haymitch from the Seam. Maysilee and Allan were merchant kids, and as much as they were all from the same district, there was still a small divide.

Allan stood up, joining Haymitch by the window.

"Do you really think they'll help us?" Allan asked. "The mentors from Four… they'd be better off helping their own district, yeah?"

"The mentors from One and Two  _might_  do that, especially since this is the Quell we're talking about and Quell Victors are often very… shall we say, popular? A rare breed in itself."

Haymitch and Allan both jumped and spun around to see a small woman, hair starting to turn grey at the ends, standing by the door to the train car and watching them with amusement.

"Your mentor," Amara announced. She walked over and shook their mentor's hands. "We only get one mentor this year?"

"Same like every other year."

"I thought with double the tributes they could at least loan Twelve two mentors," Amara complained. "I will leave you to get acquainted with these tributes, then"

Once Amara left, their mentor gestured for them to take a seat, looking at each of them in turn. "I can assure you that I will do my best to see you through the Tribute Parade, the interviews, the trainings and to the best of my ability, while you're in the arena. During the duration of the Games, I am to forget that I'm from District Four. My duties are to  _you_. Can we work together?"

Maysilee stood up and moved towards her, offering a hesitant smile. "I'm Maysilee."

"Mags Cohen," she shook the proffered hand.

"You won the 13th Games," Allan blurted out.

"That I did, young man, that I did. You weren't even born yet, yes?" she laughed lightly.

Allan and Aster introduced themselves but Haymitch remained seated. He never took his eyes off his mentor.

"This one's a stubborn one, then?" Mags smiled at him.

"He's like that," Maysilee said, teasing. "He's the brooding sort – he thinks he's cool."

Haymitch glared at Maysilee. He wasn't brooding, not at all. He was just thinking quietly to himself. Haymitch was glad for a mentor to help them and she seemed decent enough but he wasn't sure how a woman in her mid-fifties could truly help them. She reminded him somewhat of Greasy Sae and she didn't look like she had the capacity to harm anyone, much less kill. Still, she did win, so he supposed he shouldn't be so quick to judge a book a by its cover. She had to know a thing or two on how to stay alive and he was going to listen.

"I don't think Maysilee was right about you. You're not trying to act "cool". You, I presume," Mags turned towards him after the other three had returned to their room, "just don't talk much."

He shrugged. "Don't have much to say."

"Nothing at all? Not even now? No questions for me?"

Haymitch regarded her carefully and then leaned forward in his seat. "How do I stay alive?"

"How do you want to play the Games?"

Haymitch blinked, finding the question unexpected. "What do you mean?"

"Haymitch, the Games began the moment you stepped into the Capitol. It doesn't start when the countdown ends in the arena and you step off the platform. It begins  _before_. From the moment you arrive in the Capitol," Mags explained, "there will be eyes on you and the rest of the tributes. There are 47 other tributes this year. That's a lot of tributes, a lot of names, a lot of faces. Why should they remember  _you_  of all people? What's so special about you? Why should they root for you? These people, they'll easily forget that you exist, especially where you're from. It is up to you how you want to stand out and be noticed. You ask how you're going to stay alive, so I ask again, how do you want to play the Games?"

Haymitch scratched his cheek, the only traitorous sign that he was uncertain and out of his depth. Other than that, he held Mags gaze as he ask, "Are you really going to help us?"

"I see you," Mags chuckled. "Your trust is not quite so easily gain, is it?"

"If Four wins -"

"If Four wins, I'd have nothing to do with it, my boy. Their mentor will be called for interviews; their mentor will have the spotlight. Not me. I am Twelve's mentor this year. I will be honest with you and treat you with respect and in return I ask that you trust me, even for just a little bit. You only have me now, Haymitch, forget everything else."

"Okay," he slouched in his seat.

"There are four of you. When all of you are in the Games, circumstances will crop up, things will happen and I will be forced to focus my attention on only one of you. Only one makes it out alive. As much as I'd like to help all four of you, I will have to make choices. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, you'll choose the one with the best chance – might not be me. I understand. That's what you're saying right?"

"But as long as you're still out here and not in the arena, I can still help. You need an image, an angle we can play, something for the sponsors to remember you by, Haymitch. Sponsors can be helpful."

"I've seen the Games… Twelve hardly had sponsors so what does it matter?"

"Twelve had never given the sponsors any reason to pledge their money. Perhaps this year it might be different. It doesn't hurt to try, my boy. Tomorrow we will reach the Capitol, and tomorrow, all eyes will be on you. Go to sleep and think about what I said. Think of an angle, a mask to put on for these people."

Haymitch gave a curt nod and rose to his feet, bidding Mags goodnight.

XxX

He woke up later than the others and took his own sweet time getting ready, exploring the bathroom and turning on the numerous dials. Back at home, he couldn't even get running water from the tap and had to haul pails of it from the communal well and here, in a moving  _train_ no less, water was within his reach.

During breakfast, Mags must have given the other three the same advice she told him. When the train reached the Capitol and they departed to throngs of people waiting for a glimpse of the tributes, Aster smiled sweetly, an innocent fourteen year old girl. Maysilee stood tall with her chins up though her eyes darted nervously around her. Allan, under Amara's strict guidance kept the food away from his hands and actually looked presentable with his hair combed neatly. He was the image of the boy next door.

Haymitch spent the night thinking of an image and when morning came, he decided to just wing it. That was when he realised that that was who he is. He had a laid back attitude and he mustered it, sauntering through the platform behind the rest with a bored indifference though his palms were sweaty and he was nervous. His eyes swept the crowd and when he caught the eyes of a group of girls, he gave them a curt nod. They went wild much to his surprise.

He looked at Mags uncertainly. She nodded and he relaxed.

"Keep doing what you're doing. I was a girl once," she said and Haymitch found it difficult to reconcile that image with the person she was now. "We all like boys who are … dark and enigmatic."

Haymitch swallowed. "I don't think I'm like that at all."

"Confidence is key – you don't have to be it, you just have to  _pretend_  to be it," Mags whispered, nudging him forward. "Don't let them see you're afraid. Play the game, Haymitch."

For the brief minute, they were all noticed by the crowd, Haymitch more so than the others. He was tall and he towered over the rest, walking behind them, his grey eyes taking in the sight.

"He's quite handsome and the girl… Maysilee, she's pretty, too," he heard someone said. "He's dreamy," another chimed in. "I've never seen eyes like that," he overheard and he wondered what was wrong with his eyes.

Cameras flashed and people screamed his name. It was disconcerting but he kept moving forward until they reached car. Out of public's view, Haymitch sagged in relief.

"That was scary," Aster whispered.

"Good work, everyone, good work!" Mags beamed.

"He should smile more," Amara disapproved, jerking her head at Haymitch. "A long face like that… It's horrendous. It's not good for the public image!"

"I told him not to," Mags countered, the tone in her voice challenged Amara to counter her instructions at her own peril.

As it was every year, District Twelve faded into the background during the Tribute Parade. Their costumes and make up did not help one bit, and it was beyond Mags' control though she did mutter under her breath about Twelve needing new stylists. The interview, according to Mags, was the last shot for any of them.

"Haymitch," Mags sat him down. "You had a training score of ten which is good, more than good, in fact. They are going to wonder what you did in front of the Gamemakers to get that score. I don't have to tell you that a ten is rare for District Twelve, do I?"

"Okay, so…?"

"So you keep it up, that air of mystery. Play the angle as if you know something they don't, keep them guessing, keep them interested. I want you to channel that attitude as if you have better things to do with your time than be here. You are a good looking young man. I trust that fact is not lost on you?" Mags eyes twinkled. "I've heard whispers of your name on the street. You know who will sponsor you?"

"No. Do we get to know these sorts of things?"

"Teenage girls who will beg their parents for money to give you a gift, to be noticed by you."

"I don't want to play on their feelings…." he started, shifting uncomfortably. His mother raised better than that, taught him to always respect girls and women, and it didn't feel right to him to shed all of that for a few...

"It doesn't matter, Haymitch," Mags told him sternly. "These people they will… You do what you have to do, you understand?"

"So you want me to be an asshole?"

Mags gave a bitter laugh, shaking her head and rubbing his arm gently.

"She wants you to play the bad boy card," Amara sighed impatiently as if Haymitch was an idiot. "Just like we're playing the innocent girl card for that little girl…"

 _Aster_ , Haymitch clenched his jaws,  _her name is Aster._

"Do you see the contrast now?" Amara went on. "It's endearing since you always seem to keep a lookout for that girl – the jerk with a soft heart. That's the angle."

"That's enough, Amara. I think he gets it."

It was not such a difficult image to roll out. When Caesar asked during his interview, his answer,  _"I don't think it makes much of a difference, they're going to be twice as stupid,"_  came easily enough.

Haymitch Abernathy was different than what the Capitol had every year from the Career districts. He wasn't strong or aggressive or threatening. Neither is he the scared, terrified tribute from an underdog district. He was confident and cocky, good looking and smart. He was seen talking to Aster and Maysilee and Allan; friendly, in a way. He balanced.

In other words, he was a breath of fresh air in the Capitol and half of them loved him already.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Catching Fire, when Haymitch was introducing the other victors/tributes to Katniss and Peeta, he came to Mags and when he said "She's a wonderful lady," he paused for a while and there was a look on his face... I've always like to think that Haymitch and Mags are friends and they knew each other but what if there was more... So, I wrote Mags as Twelve's mentor for the Quell!


	6. Occupation: Mentor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by wigsandwhiskey: I love your hayffie stories and I love between lives as well! Im glad I can finally come up with a prompt: pls could you write Haymitch's first year as a mentor and he's 17 and overwhelmed and Mags and Chaff comfort him after he loses the tributes?

** Occupation: Mentor **

Haymitch was alone when he walked into the Viewing Centre. It was strange to be here, to be behind the scenes of the Games. He was careful to avoid anyone as he slipped into Twelve’s viewing booth, a large space curtained off from the main area. There was a long plush sofa and a table in the centre with screens and phones set on it. There was also a large television on the wall and an empty table to the side of the room where Amara had left him a plate of sandwiches.

He settled down on the red sofa, elbows on his knees. Outside, he could hear other mentors and escorts trickling in and talking to each other.

The curtain parted to reveal his escort.

“Oh, good, you’re here. I was wondering where you’ve been and I didn’t fancy sending out a search party to look for you.”

He mumbled something unintelligible under his breath, wishing she would go away.

“What was that?”

“I said, am I supposed to turn these things on,” he gestured at the multiple screens, “or is it automatic?”

“It’s in the guide book, Haymitch,” Amara huffed impatiently.

That was probably true except he wouldn’t know. He hadn’t read it. At the end of his Victory Tour, they had given him a manual. He had stared at the book in his hands and scoffed at the sight of it. The Peacekeepers did not find it amusing at all.

The Capitol took such pleasure in the killing of children that they had devised a step by step guide on the proper way to send the tributes to their death. It was disgusting and he refused to touch the manual on principle alone. Afterwards, he spent the time between that Tour and this Games trying to come to terms with his family’s and his girl’s demise to bother about the manual.

“I don’t know why I expect you to read it because clearly, you simply can’t be bothered with such triviality,” she nagged.

“Are you going to help me or not? ‘Cause if you ain’t gonna help, you can get out,” he snapped, losing patience with her.

Amara pushed the electronic tablet she often carry around into his hand and sat next to him, pushing the buttons on his table seemingly at random. The screen lighted up and came to life.

“There,” she sneered as if he should have known that all along.

He ignored her completely and pulled the table close to him, staring at the screen. He was just in time to see the tributes in their tube rising on to their platforms.

For the second time that day, the curtain was pulled back.

“Go make yourself useful someplace else, Amara,” Chaff waved her off and at the familiar voice, Haymitch looked up to see Amara turned her nose at Chaff and marched out of the room. “Haymitch!”

Haymitch smiled; glad to see a friendly face.

“Chaff,” he nodded.

 “You okay?” Chaff asked, taking a seat next to him. His voice dropped to a low whisper. “I heard – I’m sorry about your family and your girl.”

He shrugged.

“But you showed them, Haymitch. You showed them real good and now they’re ‘fraid of you. I’d say that’s a -”

“I’d rather have my family back, Chaff,” Haymitch interrupted, not looking at his friend. It was still a sore topic for him and sensing that Haymitch had no desire to talk about it at all, Chaff dropped it even if he was worried for his friend.  

Chaff had his own screen which he relocated into Twelve’s viewing booth and set it up on the table next to Haymitch who only watched him but said nothing.

“This one will split the screen,” Chaff showed him without Haymitch having to ask. “That way, you can see both your tributes at the same time. This one shows their vitals – it’s important, you’ll see soon enough.”

“And what ‘bout this?”

“That’ll give you an aerial view of the arena,” another person answered. He walked towards Haymitch’s table, zoomed out on the screen to show Haymitch what he meant. “Beetee Latier, I met you at District Three during your Tour. Mornin’, Chaff. Mornin’, Haymitch.”

“I remember,” Haymitch nodded. “Have a seat – three’s a party, right?”

Soon, the usually empty booth in District Twelve – in the previous years, loan mentors had a habit of sitting with their own district mentors for some reason with the exception of Mags last year – was crowded with several other mentors from different districts.

Haymitch knew them from Chaff and Mags. Seeder was there because Chaff was there with him and Wiress joined them because Beetee had made himself comfortable in Twelve’s booth. Mags had returned to mentor the District Four tributes. She didn’t have to since Four had another mentor on board but somehow, Haymitch had a feeling that she wanted to keep an eye on him, to make sure he was okay. It was his first year back after all, though he suspected there was a deeper reason.

“Are you okay, my boy?”

“Fine,” he lied.

Mags had been the first person he called when his family was killed. He had been hysterical and would have lost his mind if it wasn’t for her. Haymitch had kept repeating over and over that _“the Capitol did this”_ and at his wits end, Aspen Everdeen asked if he wanted to call his mentor. Travelling between districts was prohibited but Mags had contacts in the Capitol. She had pulled the _“I was his mentor”_ card and she was there in Twelve, helping him bury his mother and his brother.

If she knew he was lying, she said nothing.

“Did we form an alliance?” Amara asked, startled at the sight of several mentors sitting together with Haymitch. “If we did you have to fill up the forms, Haymitch. Didn’t I tell you?”

“No,” Haymitch grumbled. “Twelve’s got no alliance. They’re just showing me the ropes.”

“If you had read the manual I sent you after your Tour, you’d be fine,” Amara couldn’t help but jabbed him with this. She disappeared once again to sit with the escort from District Two.

“Don’t worry, in a few years, when she’s old, they’ll replace with a new escort,” Chaff chuckled when he saw Haymitch rolled his eyes at Amara. “Maybe you’ll get a hot one, eh, and we’ll get to see some action.”

“That’s highly inappropriate,” Beetee told Chaff. “He’s only seventeen, Chaff, don’t drag him into your debauchery ways.”

“Exactly, Beetee,” Chaff nodded. “He’s _seventeen_. He’s old enough.”

Within minutes after the Games started, both of District Three tributes were amongst those slain in the bloodbath. With a long defeated sigh, Beetee left to make a call to the family.

All talks were left aside as each mentor focused on their own tributes. Haymitch’s eyes were fixed on the screen, watching Anna, Twelve’s female tribute, stood frozen on the platform. The boy had done as he asked and was running away from the cornucopia.

“Why isn’t she moving?” he muttered in distress. “She’s a target! Move, Anna. You can’t - ”

The girl died on the platform, her throat speared with an arrow. Haymitch gave a strangled noise of surprise, his head snapping up to look at Chaff and Mags. On his table, the girl’s screen went dark

“You still have another,” Mags reminded him.

She was right. He couldn’t let this distract him. There was still one other he could help. Haymitch pushed the surprise, the fear and the revulsion to the back of his mind as he frantically searched for Noah on the screen. He found him running through the arena pursued by a Career from District Two.

“Run,” Haymitch growled. “Run faster.”

It was hopeless. The tribute from Two raised his sword and slashed Noah’s back before turning around towards the Cornucopia, leaving Noah to bleed out to death. Haymitch gripped the screen, staring and refusing to blink as he watched Noah gasping for breath.

Chaff looked at him. He already knew what Haymitch was not yet willing to accept.

Noah died. His eyes were wide open and staring at the camera, his face frozen in terror.

“Well,” Amara poked her head through the curtains to address Haymitch, “this is a very short year for Twelve, _again_. I must say, Haymitch, that was an easy first day on the job for you. I don’t think you need me around anymore, do you?”

When Haymitch said nothing, she went on, “I’m going to meet Jovian for lunch now. You remember my boyfriend, Jovian, don’t you?”

“I – Yeah, no, you can go,” Haymitch told her. He just wanted her to leave and to stop talking to or to pepper him with questions he had no interest in answering.

“Don’t forget to do the paper works,” Amara reminded him. “Always so tedious when you lose tributes.”

 _You,_ the word jumped out at him.Amara took no part in this. He had lost the tributes. It was him. It was his fault.

“Haymitch,” Chaff nudged him. “I need you to remember one thing – the mentors are the escorts’ bosses. _You_ run this ship, you understand? You don’t let her off the hook like that.”

 _I run this ship_ , he thought quietly, _which meant their death is because of me._

“Is it … Is it difficult… mentoring?” his voice came out hoarse. “Every year… I –“

“You’ll get used to it,” Chaff exhaled a breath, running a hand down his face.

“What do you tell their parents? What do _I_ tell their parents?”

“The truth,” Mags said, clutching his hand tightly in hers, “that you tried and it wasn’t enough.”

“I _know_ them,” he whispered. “I used to … I went to school with them. They’re younger but there’s only one school… He’s… Noah liked to play tricks on the girls in the district. He’ll howl like a wolf and scare them shitless, and he sounded just like a wolf. I used to tell him - ”

“Stop,” Chaff frowned. “Stop. You can’t think like that. It’ll mess you up more than it already has.”

“You just have to keep moving, Haymitch,” Mags told him “It’s not going to get easier.”

“I don’t think I can do this.”

Mags nodded sympathetically. “You’re the best chance they got – think of it that way.”

He stared at his hands, prolonging the hour until he needed to get on the phone to tell his friends’ parents that their child was dead.

“It’ll get easier if I don’t know them,” he said suddenly, surprising Mags and Chaff with the fierceness in his voice.

He made sure he never interacted with any child in District Twelve from then on. He stopped seeing them as his friends or Lief’s friends, or someone he knew from home. Eventually as the years passed, he stopped seeing children as children at all. He saw them all as someone the Capitol could take and kill at any moment. They were all potential tributes to him and he didn’t want to know them before their time in the arena. 


	7. Meeting Effie Trinket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anon: You are my favorite Hayffie writer. Your writing is great. I have a prompt for you. Could you write about the first meeting between Effie and Haymitch and about what they both think? Like two parts about the same event? Thank you so much if you decide to do it.

** Meeting Effie Trinket **

The Reaping for the 60th Hunger Games was not due to start in another fifteen minutes but Haymitch was already at the Justice Building. He wouldn’t have been there early if it wasn’t for the man pacing in front of him, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Dammit, Undersee," Haymitch barked, "sit down. You're givin' me a headache."

Nolan Undersee stopped abruptly which was good except now he was standing in front of Haymitch, towering over him.

“He should be here. The man is _never_ late, you know that.”

Haymitch exhaled loudly.

“Thought you were following him around like a lost puppy,” Haymitch mumbled. “You shoulda’ come here with him then, not arrive first.”

District Twelve’s current Mayor was old and because of that, he was looking for a replacement. Somehow, he had seen something in Nolan and had taken the young man under his wing. Nolan took his apprenticeship appointment rather seriously - as he should since it was a brilliant opportunity for him to better his life now that his young family was growing – and he had shadowed the Mayor for three weeks, learning the trick of the trade.

“Sit down, Nolan,” Haymitch ordered when Nolan’s only answer was to look out the window worriedly. He raised his flask in the man’s direction. “Drink?”

"No, thank you," Nolan declined politely and took the seat Haymitch had offered him. "So .... This new escort…. What do you think of her? Did they tell you anything about her in the Capitol?"

It took a while for what he said to register and when it did, Haymitch who was slouching in his seat, sat up slightly straighter.

“What’d you say?”

“Your new … Oh, come now, Haymitch, you don’t have a clue about this, do you?”

“Can’t say I do,” Haymitch said.

“That’ll explain. She arrived yesterday and the Mayor hosted a dinner for her in your absence. I was wondering why you said nothing about her arrival. We were only informed the morning before she arrived.”

"There was dinner? You fed a Capitol citizen when you could have fed two families in the Seam?” Haymitch scoffed.

“She is the Capitol, Haymitch. We couldn’t just….” He trailed off and deciding that it was better not to pursue that line of topic, Nolan changed the subject. “It turns out that she came a day early to get acquainted with you but, well… You stood her up.”

“I didn’t know she was coming, did I?” he grumbled. “She could have called ahead.”

“She did. She called the Mayor. When I found out, I sent Mace over to your house to get you for dinner but the kid said you were out cold.”

"Mace?” Haymitch frowned. His expression turned serious. “You sent one of the Mellark's boys to my house? Could have killed that kid - don't do that again, Nolan, don’t send people to my house."

Nolan sighed. "She seems nice - your new escort. Young, too."

Haymitch did not deign to reply him. He was thinking quietly to himself. He supposed Amara must have at some point told him that the 59th Games was her last. That would explain why she had been so adamant on taking him out to dinner before he left for Twelve last year – a farewell because Amara was the kind to host her own farewell dinner – except with the alcohol, he couldn’t really remember much.

In a desperate need to fill the silence – Nolan Undersee hated silences, a fatal flaw that Haymitch noticed he possessed since they were kids – he tried to engage Haymitch in small talks.

"Aspen caught us a deer for dinner yesterday. If he hadn’t, we probably would have to feed your new escort with squirrels or worst, Sae’s soup,” he chuckled. “What an impression that would make, huh? You don't go out with him to the woods anymore, do you?"

"Haven't been doing that since I won the Games, Nolan,” Haymitch told him. “Don't really need to anymore, do I?"

"Ah - well, you were shit at setting up snares, anyway," Nolan joked and Haymitch smirked, recalling random memories of his young self’s misadventure beyond the fence. Aspen had always assigned him the role of a lookout.

"Why don't you come around sometimes, Mitch? We haven’t really… you and I… We… Well, Marilyn would love to have you over, I’m sure."

"No, Nolan, she wouldn't. And you know I - I can't. I look at her and..."

_I see Maysilee._

"I've got a little girl now. She’s nearly two - you haven't seen her before,” he tried. “Madge's her name."

"I will eventually when she turns Twelve."

That shut him up effectively It was a cruel reminder that his daughter would ultimately be amongst the children currently filling up the Square outside and Haymitch almost regret it.

Nolan stood up abruptly, rubbing his hands together in agitation and peered out of the window once more.

"Why aren’t you escorting the escort?" Haymitch laughed at that joke. "Won't she get lost?"

"I offered, she told me not to trouble myself. She said she remembers. She'll be here. She wanted to get a look around, said something about architecture. I don’t understand the lure of Twelve’s architecture but I didn’t want to make a fool of myself."

Haymitch raised an eyebrow. "What architecture? And in Twelve, no less - must be fucking crazy. Not a good sign for me, yeah?"

" _That_ is not a very nice thing to say to someone you have not even met," a voice told him off.

“Oh!” Nolan looked away, embarrassed to be caught talking about her.

Haymitch on the other hand, turned his head slightly to his left, towards the voice only to be assaulted by a mess of bright red. She was tall, although he thought the heels probably had a lot to do with the height and she held herself with a certain rigidity which he found exhausting to look at.

 _Probably have no idea how to relax and have a good time,_ he scoffed silently.

She approached him. A proper gentleman would have stood up to greet her but he said he was a gentleman so he remained seated, slouched where he was. As she came closer, he had to crane his neck to look at her and it was starting to get uncomfortable. When she suddenly thrust her hand forward, Haymitch blinked. She waited until she grew impatient.

“It’s only polite to shake someone’s hand when the person offers it,” she clucked her tongue in disapproval. “A good man does not lack manners.”

“Never said anything about being good,” he sneered. “That’s not my image.”

She didn’t react and that irritated him more than it should. Other people would have bristled or would have said something but all she did was to look at him with growing exasperation. Wanting to throw her off her game, Haymitch grabbed her hand and planted a wet, sloppy kiss on the back of it.

That did it. She gasped and abruptly pulled her hand back but something stopped her from wiping it, front to back, on her dress. _Her manners_ , he realised later on. _It would have been the height of bad manners._ Effie Trinket doused herself in manners the way he did with alcohol.

“Haymitch,” Nolan Undersee hissed. “My apologies, Miss Trinket, this is, uh, this is Haymitch Abernathy. Haymitch, this is Effie Trinket.”

“What happened to the old goat?”

From his peripheral vision, Haymitch could make out Nolan barely able to stop himself from face palming in frustration.

“Old…” Effie’s brow wrinkled and when the realisation set in, her eyes widened. “You mean Amara Varvari? That’s _very_ rude.”

“Yeah, I meant her,” he blinked rapidly to clear his vision. The alcohol was making his sight blurry. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll think of a name for you.”

“Sweetheart is already bad enough considering I am not yours,” she retorted.

Haymitch arched an eyebrow in amusement and when she realised what she said, Effie blushed, though it was difficult to discern with all that make-up.

“Sweetheart it is, then,” Haymitch taunted with a note of finality. “Now, what happened to my old escort? Can’t say I’m sorry to see her go but out of curiousity…”

“She’s retired, Mr. Abernathy, surely she had inform you of the same?”

“Might have,” he shrugged. “I don’t know.”

They stood in front of each other, neither having anything further to say to the other. Haymitch took the opportunity to seize her up, running his eyes over her. She jutted her chin out stubbornly, refusing to be intimidated by it.

He smirked. This was going to be interesting. He tipped his flask back in a mock toast and took a long swig from it.

“Welcome to Twelve, sweetheart. You won’t find your fame here,” he sneered.

As he passed by her, Haymitch burped loudly. Effie spun around, looking scandalised that one would do that in front of others.

“He’s not at all like how I imagined he would be,” Effie said once he was out of ear-shot. “He was really something when he was sixteen. The Capitol loved him.”

“A lot of years have passed between then and now,” Nolan stood beside her, watching Haymitch staggered out on to the podium. “Ten years is a long time. It changes people. The Haymitch I knew was a different person but that boy is long gone. If you wish to work with him well, Ms Trinket, I suggest you rid yourself of the disillusion… the image of that sixteen year old boy, and take him as he is now.”

Effie gave him a quizzical look but she was listening to Nolan intently, sensing a story, something deeper.

“I will trust your judgment. You are his friend after all.”

“I was,” Nolan smiled sadly. “I was at one point.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is late so I only wrote it in H's pov. I might write this first meeting in E's pov at a later time. Just to clarify, Mace is Peeta's brother.
> 
> What do you think of their first meeting? Leave a review.


	8. Keeping Effie Trinket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anon: Hola, could you also write about the first year of Haymitch and Effie working together? That would be awesome. Thanks a bunch.

When the door to his room opened and the lights from the train corridor spilled in, Haymitch stirred. Effie Trinket had apparently tracked him down to his room which both surprised and annoyed him.

“What?” he growled, lifting the hand that was covering his eyes.

“I thought I’d check on you and a good thing, too. You’re in bed,” she remarked. "Are you not going to meet the children? They are waiting for you."

"No," he let his head fall back on the bed, “and don’t call them children.”

“What do you mean no? You have to meet them; talk to them and get to know them.”

“Sweetheart," he raised his head again to squint at her. "I already know all there's to know ‘bout them."

Effie propped a hand on her hip, glaring at him. “Do you?” she challenged. “Tell me then.”

"They're going to die," he answered simply.

Haymitch watched her. He couldn’t look away; he couldn’t take his eyes off her. There was a bubbling need to see how she would react to his statement. From the moment they had met in the Justice Building, there was something about her that intrigued him. Where Amara look at him as if he was beneath her, Effie held his gaze and talked to him as if he meant something. Then again, Amara had known him as the boy from Twelve whereas Effie had only known him as the Victor of the Second Quarter Quell.

In front of him, Effie faltered ever so slightly and if he wasn’t intently watching her, he might have missed it. Her blue eyes widened imperceptibly at what he said before she blinked and the confusion was gone.

Haymitch exhaled.

"They will if we don't help them," she told him sternly.

That caught his attention - her use of _‘we’_. Just as Amara’s ‘ _you_ lost the tributes’ was not lost on him, this one didn’t either. But he let it slide, choosing not to dwell on it. He should wait till the end of the Games and then he would see how she felt about _‘we’_ when Twelve lose.

“Stop, stop,” he raised a hand when he saw her taking a step forward. “Who do you think you are, sweetheart? The old goat never stepped into my room before and you ain’t gonna to either. Don’t come in.”

“She probably had a good reason – your room is filthy which is surprising since we only got onboard this _morning,_ ” she told him harshly and Haymitch wanted to laugh because she was there arguing with him, matching him for every retort he threw her way. This woman was something. “I ought to send the Avox to clean your room.”

“Is that part of your escorting job, too?” he sneered.

Unfazed, she crossed the threshold of his room, carefully stepping over empty bottles. Now that she was inside, she glanced around, looking for a clean space to sit. In the end, she perched herself gingerly on his vanity. Her skirt rode slightly up her thigh. Haymitch stared because he wasn’t above that as he raised an eyebrow at her for taking such liberties.

"Amara warned me you would be difficult."

"Whatever. You should have listened to her.”

"I like the challenge," she declared, smoothing her skirt. "Besides, I don’t imagine I will be here for long. This is just a stepping stone to something far greater."

He snorted, reaching out for another bottle. "I'm sure."

Effie pursed her lips, whether from him drinking or him dismissing her so carelessly that way, he didn’t know.

xXx

He wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t left his room to get a drink. Effie was at the kitchen preparing a warm glass of milk for the female tribute, whose name he couldn’t quite remember. The girl was sitting on the stool, desperately wiping off the tears from her cheeks. Effie placed the glass of milk in front of her and rubbed her back in soothing circles.

He crouched in front of the cabinet, looking for a bottle. The sound of the doors opening and closing caught her attention and she looked up in time to see him extract a bottle of whiskey.

“Try not to think too much about it, okay? Why don’t you take the glass back to your room?” Effie spoke quietly, comforting the girl. “Do you want me to come with you?”

The girl shook her head.

“Goodnight, darling,” Effie bade her.

"I don't know if you're a fool or you just can't control your maternal instinct," he spoke up once the girl was gone. He drank from the bottle and leaned against the doorway.

"I am just doing my job."

"Amara's never done that," he pointed out. “Didn’t she tell you not to do that?”

"I am _not_ her and I don't measure myself by her standard. What do you have against me comforting the children? They’re anxious and nervous. Something big is happening to them and it is only natural that they’re overwhelmed."

“Overwhelmed…” Haymitch gave a bitter snort. “That’s what you think that was? Sweetheart, that kid is fucking terrified because she’s going to die.”

Her face morphed into one of annoyance and he wondered if that would crack the thick make-up she had applied. The bright blue of her lipstick was distracting for the simple reason that lips were not supposed to be blue and it was unnatural.

“You keep saying that but so far, you’ve refused to discuss strategies on how we should go about helping them. I’ve been trying to -”

"They're going to break your heart, Trinket. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Somehow, her face softened. "Like they broke yours?"

He clenched his jaws. He had not been expecting that and it made him angry. She shouldn’t be saying those kinds of things to him. What would she know about his heart?

"There's nothing left to break."

"Of course there is," she implored. "If there's nothing left, you wouldn't be so adamant on maintaining your distance."

That took him aback. Either she was perceptive or he was obvious. Whichever it was, he did not like it one bit. His face closed off and he turned away from her, intending to leave but she touched his arm, stopping him. Just as quickly, she released it, surprised at her own audacity.

"We should try to talk to sponsors, Haymitch. I will arrange for some tomorrow."

He sighed, running his hand down his face. It was too late at night to be arguing with her and ever since they met, all they had done was argue. There seemed to be an unspoken rule for them to always agree to disagree.

"Tell you what - if you can get someone willing to listen to Twelve, I'll play along."

She beamed, her eyes lighted up. Effie was delighted at the prospect of doing something, at the chance to prove herself.

"Yes, yes, of course," she nodded enthusiastically.

“I’m going to go back to my room and you’re gonna leave me alone. I’ve got a bottle to finish.”

He spent the walk to his room thinking about her. She puzzled him.

XxX

"Wake up!” she trilled. Her voice was hurting his ears. “Wake up, Haymitch. It's a big, _big_ day!"

"Fuck off," he grumbled. He turned, lying flat on his stomach and covered his head with a pillow.

The pillow was ripped off him. In retaliation, he grabbed another only to have her tug that away from him, too. Haymitch wrestled it from her, or at least he tried to. His head was throbbing and his mouth was dry. Everything was terrible that morning including being rudely awaken by his new escort.

"You make no sense at all," she panted. "If you can fight with me over a pillow, then you can very well wake up!"

Frustrated, he gave the pillow a hard pull. It slipped from her grip except now, just as she had said, he was awake and the pillow had lost its appeal. He threw it at her. It wasn’t hard but she gasped and staggered back. He rolled his eyes.

"I need your opinion on the clothes they should wear for tonight," she said suddenly without preamble. “Twelve being a mining district means that –“

"Are you serious?" he interrupted.

"Absolutely."

"I'm the fucking mentor, not a stylist!"

"Language," she frowned. "One wouldn't know you're a mentor. You don't act like it."

"You've got some nerves."

"From what I gathered, your previous escort left you to your own devices. But rest assure, Haymitch, I will not do the same. I am here to do my job. Now, according to my schedule," she consulted the clipboard on her hand, "you only have five minutes left to shower. Move along. I shall see you at breakfast at eight _sharp_ and no later."

She had drawn up a schedule for him, he thought with mounting horror. This year was a nightmare. He didn’t think he could deal with her. In fact, he vowed to get rid of her in any way he can.

Haymitch arrived at a quarter past eight. He spent ten minutes in his room idling, on purpose.

If he irritated her enough, maybe she will ask for a transfer. Amara had threatened him with the same countless of times over the years for him to know escorts could ask for transfer.

XxX

Haymitch made a beeline for his friend.

"Chaff," he hissed his friend's name through gritted teeth.

“Haymitch,” Chaff clapped his friend’s shoulder and together, they found a seat amongst the stand to watch the Parade.

Haymitch was careful to make sure there were no other empty seats near him so that Effie would have to find a seat someplace else.

“How’s your new escort? You must be enjoying yourself.”

"This one's no better. She's fucking crazy,” he grumbled. “How do I get the old goat back? Is there a way? I'll put in a good word for her."

Chaff's bark of laughter was so loud that even though Effie was three rows in front of him, she turned to look back at the pair curiously.

“You hated Amara,” Chaff pointed out.

“Sure I do,” Haymitch agreed. “But I can deal with her. I can’t deal with _her._ ”

"This one's hot," Chaff eyed Effie appreciatively. "I don't know why you're complaining."

“That’s ‘cause you’re a pervert, Chaff. I’m not,” Haymitch countered. “She doesn’t leave me alone. I can’t drink in peace. She follows me everywhere. She’s got a damn schedule and she tells me what to do, when to do it and _how_ to do it. She’s insane,” he repeated. “She taught me how to fold a fucking napkin at breakfast and she’s asking me not to drink so much, said it’s important for Twelve’s image.”

“Man, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you this vocal in all the years I’ve known you. You don’t usually talk this much,” Chaff noted, shoulder shaking with laughter. "Look at it this way - her attention's on you at least. All these men, on the other hand, they want _her_ attention..."

"They can have it," Haymitch said hastily.

XxX

"Haymitch, it's time. Please seat yourself at the booth," Effie hurried over, holding the curtain back so he could enter Twelve's viewing booth.

"Be a good boy, Haymitch, and go," Chaff snickered when he overheard.

Effie took a seat next to him, crossing her legs daintily. He looked at her.

“Yes?"

"Aren't you gonna go join the other escorts?" he asked pointedly. "I do this alone."

"Not anymore. You have me now. I'd rather be here to help you answer any calls from sponsors... Or arrange anything you need..."

His brows crinkled. He focused his attention back on the screens, splitting the screen and getting ready for when his tributes would be send out to the arena.

"You won't have much to do, then. Sponsors don't call Twelve, and this one will end sooner than you expect. Look at the arena," he gestured. It was a desert and the weather was harsh.

He uncapped his flask and took a drink.

"Are you always this bitter?" she laughed lightly.

Haymitch said nothing. When the Games began, Effie was with him in Twelve’s viewing booth throughout. She sat with him, watching the Games together. She whispered under her breath, urging the tributes on and at some point, she offered to take his place in case he needed a break. He didn’t need a break because both their tributes died before night had even fallen in the arena.

"Fuck!” he cursed when their female tribute stopped breathing.

It might be a different year but it was always the same tune.

That's it, sweetheart," he leaned back, exhausted and defeated. “Congratulations on completing your first Games.”

“Don’t,” she whispered. She had been quiet until then. “I don’t feel … I don’t think I should be ….”

He looked over at her. Effie Trinket was shaking, staring at the dark screen on their table. His stare must have burnt a hole through her because she turned her head slowly towards him. Her face was drained of its colour.

"I - There are paper works, yes?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

"I'll take care of it," she announced and stood up abruptly, gathering her things. "Goodnight, Haymitch."

Effie left without another word. That was the last he saw of her that year.

The next morning, all the papers were ready and waiting for his signature. His trip home had been arranged and his train ticket back to District Twelve was on the coffee table.

Amara Varvari had never, in all those nine years that he knew her, made his life in the Capitol slightly bearable. She had never touched the paper works and was gone the moment the canon signalled the tributes’ demise went off.

Effie Trinket was another breed of escort altogether, probably the only one of its kind. He thought he might keep her for another year or so. It was true that she never left him alone and tried to run this ship alongside instead of relinquishing all that power to him, but she had done more than his old escort ever did, not only for him, but for the tributes.

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Meeting Finnick Odair

_Not a prompt but I just wanted to write Haymitch meeting Finnick_

* * *

**Meeting Finnick Odair**

They made quite a sight - the three of them walking down the hallway of the hospital corridor. Several pairs of eyes were trained at them and once or twice, someone started, rising from their seat to get to Haymitch for an autograph or a photo. Haymitch and Chaff sped up to avoid such hold up. On any other days, Effie would have insisted that that would be good for Twelve's image but as it were, they were in a rush.

"Mags," Chaff greeted when they walked into the room. He touched her back gently, talking in a low voice to the older woman. "We're here. Go get some rest – we'll watch over him."

Mags shook her head quietly.

"Get some sleep, Mags. You haven't slept in days," Haymitch told her. "If the kid wakes up, I'll send Effie to get you. She's my escort  _and_  my runner, don't you know? Just promoted her – five years' wait, but there it is," he teased, winking at Effie.

Effie pressed her lips together, swallowing the retort. Instead, she nodded in assurance if only to put Mags at ease so she would feel better about taking the much needed break.

"He's going to need a friend," Mags said, stroking the youngest Victor's hair softly. "The Capitol will put so much pressure on him. He's the youngest of them all… It's unprecedented. You boys be there for him, yes? And you'll keep my boys in line?" she asked Effie

Chaff and Haymitch snorted.

"We're just gonna sit here, Mags. What kind of trouble do you think we'll get into?" Chaff asked.

"You'd be surprised," Effie retorted as she walked Mags to the door.

She waited until the elevator door had shut and taken Mags away from the Games' Hospital Centre before she returned to the room.

"I gave her my sleeping pills," Effie informed them. "I doubt she could sleep with all that's…. Well, in any case, I hope the pills could help."

"Effie Trinket…. turning Mags into a junkie. Not bad," Chaff's joked.

Haymitch leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he watched the boy. Finnick Odair was only fourteen. Still too young and it showed. He seemed so small lying in that hospital bed covered with multiple white blankets, oblivious to the absolute frenzy outside on the streets of the Capitol. Getting from the Training Centre to the hospital was a nightmare in itself. Every street in the Capitol was alive and celebrating Finnick's victory, and the crowd swell in size as they approached the hospital where Finnick was held.

"They don't get tired, do they?" Effie mused from her place by the window, looking down as if she knew Haymitch had been thinking about the crowd, too. From the hospital room, ten floors above, they could hear the chants of ' _Finnick Odair! Finnick Odair!'_. "When he wakes up, they will pounce on him."

"We'll stall," Haymitch told her. "Mags will know what to do."

"Did she do it for you, too? Effie asked quietly before she shook her head, "stalling will only get you a day or two at most. Eventually -"

"Yeah, eventually," Haymitch interrupted her as he was prone to do before she got too long winded. "But it is still  _time_. If they –"

"Shut up," Chaff snapped, serious for once. He gestured at Finnick who was shaking his head left and right, eyes squeezed shut and muttering indiscernible things. "Can you hear me? Finnick? What's the matter, buddy?"

"He's having a nightmare," Effie announced as if she had seen the same thing countless times and Haymitch wondered how she knew.

Effie crossed the space from the window to stand at the other side of the bed. She rested her hand on Finnick's forehead and then brushed his hair back. "It's okay," she whispered calmly. "You're okay. You're okay."

Finnick relaxed under her touch. Haymitch and Chaff exchanged a look.

Slowly, Finnick's fingers which were curled into a tight fist unfurled and then he blinked a couple of times. His sea-green eyes were glassy and unfocused but eventually, they drifted to the object closest to him.

"You're an angel," Finnick rasped, staring at Effie as if she was the most precious thing he had ever seen.

Effie laughed lightly. "No one's ever called me that but no, I'm Effie - the escort for District Twelve… Effie Trinket."

Finnick stared blankly. "Not an angel? I'm not dead?"

"Alright, sweetheart," Haymitch pulled her back by her elbow away from the bed. "Go get Mags."

"She's sleeping," Effie objected. "Let her rest for a few more hours. I will get her after."

With that settled, the three of them remained in the room. The doctors were expecting Finnick to be drifting in and out of sleep but somehow, the boy remained awake. Haymitch thought he knew why that was so. To sleep was to go back to the nightmares, back to the arena.

"You know who we are?" Haymitch asked suddenly, finding Finnick's silence unnerving.

Finnick tore his gaze away from the wall he had been staring at for the past ten minutes. "Yes – Victors," he nodded. "You must be the welcoming committee. Am I in the big boys' club now?"

"Look at that, when he speaks, he jokes," Chaff jostled Haymitch. "Think I like him already. Welcome to the club, kid – members only. The only requirement this club has is that you've got to have already killed somebody, otherwise, no admission. Membership fees vary from one Victor to the other."

"Chaff!" Effie shrieked, appalled at his idea of humour. "That is inappropriate. He's only just woken up."

"That's the truth, sunshine," he shrugged.

"What is going on?" Finnick asked tiredly. "Out there, I mean. I can hear…"

"Your ' _fans'_ " Haymitch threw the word out with so much scorn that next to him, Effie shifted uncomfortably. He knew she had been a fan of some Victors before she joined the Games only to realise that behind the cameras, the Victors were not as she knew them.

"He's going to be a bit of a problem, isn't he?" Chaff directed the question to Haymitch when he saw Finnick looking away and not paying them any attention.

Haymitch chanced another glance at Finnick. "Yeah," he nodded. "Yeah, he is. A few more years, give or take. Mags got contact maybe she can pull a few strings and - "

"Has anyone ever told you two uncivilised adults that talking about someone in the third person when the said person is present in the same room is not only rude but also the height of bad manners?" Effie hissed.

"I wouldn't know. Apparently, you've told me numerous fucking times that I don't have any manners in me," Haymitch told her off.

"You'll have to excuse them, Finnick - may I call you Finnick? I've been trying to teach them a thing or two about proper behaviour, Haymitch especially, but it's always in one ear and out the other."

"Are you two together?" Finnick gestured at Effie and Haymitch, popping the question out of the blue. "Is that allowed?"

Effie's response to that question was to sputter, staring at Finnick in disbelief. Haymitch was amused at both the question and his escort's reaction. Chaff had burst out laughing and was still laughing. He was doubled over, head pressed between his knees and shoulders shaking violently.

"Good one, Finnick, good one," Chaff managed to get the words out. "The sexual tension is definitely there but I ain't sure if he slept with her yet. So you wanna bet or what?"

"Again with the third person," Effie huffed, "and  _I_  am right here."

"The arena must have messed you up really badly," Haymitch commented.

"No, it hasn't," Finnick denied. "At least I – I don't think so. Sorry. The question was probably rude. I've seen you both on television and you're always together – "

"He needs constant supervision," Effie explained.

"- and you're both here in my room but I don't see Chaff's escort so I was…. Never mind – sorry. It was just wondering because it took my mind off the Games thinking about something else," Finnick said and turned away, becoming quiet once more. "Mags got me a trident. I've never seen that happen in any Games," he said again a while later. "She saved my life."

"She's got a habit of doing that – saving people's life, I mean," Haymitch answered, staring at the floor.

"All those people outside the hospital… Are they waiting for me?"

"Most likely," Haymitch nodded. "Waiting for the moment you can leave so they can get a glimpse of you."

"I don't want to have to … I can't pretend," he whispered, desperate. "I can't face them yet. I can't pretend."

Haymitch heard Mags' advice to him fifteen years ago in Finnick's words.  _You don't have to be_ _it, you just have to_ pretend _to be it._

Unlike him, Finnick's image to the Capitol had always been that handsome, charming young man. Finnick Odair played the angle of the darling of the Capitol; an image that he would have to live with for the rest of his life now that he had won the Games, and especially considering the manner in which he won his Games. He sent people fainting and weak in their knees, or so Haymitch heard.

But truth be told, Haymitch could not picture this same young man in this hospital bed pretending to smile and bask at his fan's adoration. He was struggling with what just happened, a little bit broken and a little bit unhinged to do any pretending. It was too much effort to ask from someone who was still recovering.

Effie touched his hand in a comforting gesture. "I'm sure other arrangements can be made. A hovercraft, perhaps?" she looked at Haymitch uncertainly.

"Don't think about it until the Victor's interviews," Haymitch told him. "For now, you ignore them. They can't get to you as long as you're here."

"You got a family?"

Haymitch turned slightly to stare at Chaff and then he shook his head. "Is that your line, Chaff? Asking every Victor if they got a family?"

"Just making sure," he shrugged. "You know…"

"I – No, an orphan," Finnick answered. "Why?"

"It's good."

Finnick's brows furrowed together. "How's that good?"

"You'll know soon enough."

"I told you to be his friends, not scare him," Mags walked in, chastising Chaff. She looked fresher, more alert.

"Ain't scaring him or anything like that," Chaff denied. "We best leave you two to talk."

The three of them rose from their seats, intending to leave when Finnick spoke up. "Will I see you again tomorrow? Will you visit?"

Finnick was looking at them with such hope that Haymitch found himself giving Finnick an affirmative nod.

"Yeah, tomorrow," he confirmed. "You play chess? I've got a chessboard."

Finnick broke into a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finnick just won his Games so he's not so much like the Finnick we know.


	10. Punishment

** Punishment **

_** (14 years old) ** _

The first time Haymitch Abernathy was thrown into jail, he was fourteen. His friend, Aspen Everdeen, was whipped at the post.

It started with an illegal hunting trip but a necessary one; a trip beyond the fences and out in the woods of District Twelve. It was not an isolated occurrence and Haymitch’s mother had heard of the district boys making the dangerous trip outside of the fence and she had also heard of them trading for it. It was only natural that out of fear for his son’s safety and the repercussions of being caught that she forbade him from doing so. He listened, for a while that is, but Haymitch was his own person, and he was always stubborn and resolute.

That night, darkness had chased the lights away when Haymitch stood quietly by the doorway, watching his brother curled on the cot with his hands clutching his stomach. Each groan that his brother emitted made Haymitch’s spine tingled.

“Mama, please,” the five years old begged, tears spilling down his cheek. “Please.”

Haymitch did not have to ask him what was wrong. He knew it well by now, having gone through it himself at some point in his young life. His brother was hungry and his stomach was eating itself up.

With his mother too busy trying to soothe and comfort his brother, Haymitch took the opportunity to sneak out. It was dark outside but he navigated the pathways expertly. Soon, he was standing on an upended bucket outside out of Aspen’s house, talking to him through the window.

“What’s wrong?” Aspen whispered.

“My brother’s hungry. Can you help me?” he asked desperately.

Aspen ran off, rummaging through his kitchen for anything edible. He came back with a packet of biscuits.

“That’s all I have. Look,” Aspen’s eyes darted around, “why don’t you come with me tomorrow. I know your mama said not to but we can get Lief something out there. There’s a whole lot of things we can eat.”

“You know I ain’t good at what you do,” Haymitch replied.

“It doesn’t matter. You come with me; you’ll earn your share. I could always use an extra pair of eyes. Come on, Mitchie,” Aspen implored. “You’re shit at putting up snares, yeah, but you’re handy with a knife. That’s got to count for something.”

Haymitch clenched his jaws and then he nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay. I’ll see you behind the Miller’s house after class, yeah? Don’t be late or I’ll leave without you.”

Haymitch returned home the same way he left, by sneaking in. He tiptoed silently to his room and lay down next to his brother who curled up to him almost immediately.

 “You still crying?”

“My stomach hurts,” Lief complained.

“I know, Lief,” he pressed the biscuit into his brother’s hand. “Eat this for now. I’ll fix it, okay? I’ll get more and it’ll stop hurting tomorrow, I promise.”

“You’re gonna get me food?” Lief lifted his head up, looking at his brother with so much hope.

Even at that age, Lief knew to share. He broke the biscuit in half and offered it to his brother. It was tempting but Haymitch shook his head, letting his brother have it all.

“Shhh,” Haymitch put a finger to his lips. “Don’t let mama hear it or she’ll know.”

“What about dad?”

“Don’t know,” Haymitch shrugged. “He’s working two shifts at the mines but I don’t know when the Capitol is gonna bring in food to Twelve so even if he works all those hours, it’s not gonna make a different when there’s no food to buy.”

The next day, Haymitch could hardly keep still in all of his classes. He kept glancing at Aspen who grinned at him. Their eyes kept darting to the clock, counting down the minutes.

“Mitchie,” Nolan Undersee walked up to him after school ended, “heard from Aspen that you both are going to somewhere.”

“Yeah,” Haymitch answered warily.

Nolan was older than him and he was worried that he might tell on them but those fears were unfounded.

“Here – got you something,” Nolan extracted an object wrapped in an old cloth from his pocket and gave it to Haymitch.

It was heavy in Haymitch’s palm. Curious, he unwrap the cloth to see something silver gleaming under the sun. The hilt was black. It was a hunting knife.

“Got an extra at home so I thought it’d be better if you have one. It’s old but it’ll do.”

“I have a knife,” Haymitch told him almost embarrassed but this wasn’t the first time he was about to sneak off to the woods.

“Yeah, a kitchen knife,” Nolan laughed. “You’re not going to the woods to cut carrots, Mitchie. Take it, alright?”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll….”

“I’m sure you can think of something sooner or later. I’m not going to call the debt if that’s what you’re worried about,” he winked and left.

There was something peaceful about the woods. Each time he was here, he felt an unexplainable thrill. It was a little bit of freedom. Haymitch was well aware that should the Peacekeepers catch him, then the punishment would be severe but for a short while, the problems in the District were far away from him and it was a small liberation.

Aspen brought with him Toby Hawthorne and Hazelle Miller that afternoon. Haymitch had gone to the woods with Aspen and Toby before but never with Hazelle. He didn’t know what the girl was doing there but he kept his mouth shut. It was none of his business.  

They divided the task equally amongst themselves and they worked well together. Haymitch, ever so curious, tended to wander off on his own but Hazelle would always call him back.

“Haymitch, not so far,” she called out softly for the umpteenth time.

“Don’t worry,” he grinned. “Come look at this,” he pointed at a purple flower growing at the side of a tree.

Hazelle plucked it and slotted it behind her ear, raising her eyebrow at him.

“Now you’ve ruined the beauty of the flower,” he teased.

Hazelle punched him in the arm. It actually hurt but he would never let her know.

Haymitch’s job was simple, really. He was to skin the squirrels Toby and Aspen brought down. It was easier to do it in the woods then leave the evidence in the district, they told him.

The first time he did it, he made a mess of it, so much so that there was nothing left to eat but he had learnt from it and this time, it was better. So much better.  

Toby chuckled and thumped his shoulder when Haymitch lifted the first squirrel proudly. “You can take that one home then, Mitch. For your brother, eh?”

The four of them headed back to Twelve before sunset. Just after they passed the fence, Aspen and Haymitch went off together. They were both in good spirits, smiling and laughing.

“What’d you gonna tell your mother?” Aspen asked, taking out a small ball from his pants’ pocket and throwing it over to Haymitch.

Haymitch caught it neatly and passed it back.

“I’ll tell her that I did your school work - won’t be the first time it happen, you’re a lazy ass – so she’ll buy it. In exchange, you gave me a squirrel.”

Aspen shrugged, tossing the ball back.

“Sure. Just want to get the story straight. I’ll tell her the same in case she comes ‘round or something.”

“Tell who what?” a tall figure caught the ball before Haymitch could and towered over them, a maniacal grin on his face.

They both froze.

The Head Peacekeeper was standing in front of them, tossing the ball up in the air and catching it as he waited for an answer.

Aspen gulped audibly. Haymitch’s breathing had quickened.

Head Peacekeeper Blake was strict and brutal at times. He lost his temper easily and was known to harass others just to stir up trouble, at times provoking the people until they did something wrong for which he could belt out some punishment.

He was a bully, according to Haymitch’s mother.

“What’s that you’ve got?” he nodded at Aspen’s sack which contained two dead squirrels; one for him and one for Haymitch.

“Books, sir,” Aspen answered far too quickly.

“Is that so? Then you wouldn’t mind me taking a look at it, would ya?”

“It’s the same books like the ones in school. If you’re interested, you can always sit in with us at class. Math is at ten in the morning tomorrow,” Haymitch answered and Aspen was staring at him as if he was crazy.

Haymitch did not see it coming. His head snapped back violently and he feared his neck would have a whiplash. Haymitch tasted blood. He raised his finger to his lips and it came away red. His left cheek stung from where Peacekeeper Blake had back handed him. Haymitch spat the blood out, glaring at the man with unrestrained hatred.

“You talk back to me like that ever again, boy, and it’ll be more than a slap.”

“Yeah?” Haymitch snarled, anger coursing through his veins. “You gonna shoot me?”

“Leave it alone, Haymitch,” Aspen stepped in between them. “Sir, it’s late. We just wanna go home. We were playing,” he pointed at the ball, “and now we’ve got homework to do. Please, can we go?”

The Head Peacekeeper snatched the bag from Aspen and when he undid the string to look inside, Aspen’s face crumpled. The Peacekeeper’s eyes gleamed.

“Shit,” Haymitch cursed.

“Oh,” the Peacekeeper let out a breath. “Looks like it’ll be an interesting evening for Twelve tonight.”

The squirrels were found on Aspen and there was little he could do to deny that it belonged to him. Haymitch opened his mouth to say something, to take the blame too only to have Aspen silence with him a look. The Head Peacekeeper found a hunting knife on Haymitch when he searched him and that was enough for him to be thrown in Twelve’s jail, behind the Justice Building.

“Two days,” the Head Peacekeeper spat. “You’re staying here for two days.”

“Aspen!” Haymitch screamed, shaking the bars violently. “Don’t do anything to him!”

Aspen looked back at him fearfully even as Peacekeeper Blake dragged him by his collar towards the Square.

When they disappeared from view, Haymitch let out a ragged breath and slid down the walls, sitting on the floor with his head between his knees. He could hear Aspen’s terrible, painful screams from his cell. He counted twelve lashes before the screaming stopped.

When dawn broke, his mother came to the cell, frantic and worried.

“Mama,” Haymitch pressed himself against the bars. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I was just tryin’ to do right. Lief was – “

“I know, Haymitch, I know,” his mother kissed his forehead, holding him through the metal bars that separated them. “You should have listened to me! You’re so brave but so foolish.”

“I’m sorry,” he begged. “Please don’t cry. Don’t tell Lief I’m here. Don’t tell him.”

His mother promised not to. He spent the time afterwards pacing the cell. Hazelle visited him after school which broke the monotony.

“How is he?” Haymitch asked, the worry etched on his face.

“We brought him to Iris’ father yesterday night. But he’s still unconscious. He’s got fifteen lashes.”

Haymitch nodded. His fingers were clasped behind his head and he walked the cell in a dizzying circle.

“It’s bad, Haymitch,” Hazelle sat on the floor outside the cell. “His entire back…”

“He’ll be okay. He’s with the best healer in Twelve.”

“I gave your mother half my share from yesterday,” Hazelle whispered. “Don’t worry about your family.”

Haymitch stared at her and then gave her a nod. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

Being in jail was horrible. The Peacekeepers on duty forgot about him or maybe they did it on purpose but he wasn’t given any food or water. Hazelle must have known this would happen for some reason because before she left, she gave him her bottled water. The next day, his mother gave him stale bread she had begged from the Mellarks.

When he was finally released, Haymitch vowed never to return back to the holding cell ever again but that never happened. He was a teenager and like most teenagers at that age, he felt angry about things, he talked back and he got in trouble.

He was thrown in again a few times after that and years later, in the Capitol, Haymitch was a familiar face in the Games Centre Prison. The guards knew him and Effie Trinket grew tiresome of having to bail him out of jail.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he would say each time.

And each time, Effie would tell him that she would leave him to rot but whenever she received a call that he had been held, she would make her way down. She would bring him back to the Penthouse. Most of the time, he was downright drunk - the cause of him being imprisoned in the first place - and therefore, uncooperative.

“What do I do with you, Haymitch?” Effie sighed one night.

“Don’t leave me to rot,” he mumbled, blindly reaching out for her. “They starve me in there.”

“What are you talking about? They don’t,” Effie frowned.

“They do - ask Hazelle or ask Mama, they’d tell you. You gotta believe me,” he slurred, blinking at her. His eyes were clouded over. “You gotta believe me, sweetheart.”

“Okay, Haymitch, I believe you,” Effie assured him, brushing his hair back. “Go to sleep.”

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this chapter. I've always wanted to explore Haymitch's teenage years and this one came up because in Catching Fire, Haymitch told Katniss that there was a lot of whipping and they often took them to Katniss' mother, which brings me to the next point, Iris is Mrs. Everdeen.


	11. Meeting Plutarch Heavensbee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by It's me get over it: To fit in with the 'first' theme you seem to be on with these last few chapters; I was wondering would you write one where Haymitch FIRST gets involved with the Rebels and their plans? Do you see him seeking them out, or them coming to him- for his strategic ability or just access to Katniss? If that doesn't strike your fancy; no drama! I look forward to what you will share next.
> 
> This is a very, very long chapter but I enjoyed writing it so much.

**Meeting Plutarch Heavensbee**

**_(21 years old)_ **

Under his mentorship, eight children had died. Nine - now that the canon for this year's female tribute just went off but Aaron was still alive and had somehow managed to survive three days into the Games which made him to the top eight.

Interviews were conducted in District Twelve and Amara had given strict instructions to the mayor for those being interviewed to dress in their best. She ended up shaking her head when their best was not up to her standard.

Aaron gave Haymitch a little hope that this year, it could be different. He would soon realise that having that kind of hope would only crush the remnants of his soul because Aaron was violently killed. The Careers had hunted him down for a day and somehow, he managed to elude them only to be killed by mutts. The Gamemakers had released the mutts in the hopes of driving the eight tributes in close proximity to each other in order to make the Games more interesting. Aaron crossed path with a pack of mutts and he was torn to shred, losing an arm and both legs.

Outside, on the streets and in places with access to a television, the Capitol cheered. The more brutal the death, the louder they cheered.

In Twelve's viewing booth, Haymitch's temper exploded. The table was upended and he threw the bottle in his hand against the wall where it shattered to pieces. He cursed freely and vehemently.

"I'll kill Antony in his sleep," Haymitch vowed as he raged against the Head Gamemaker. "These Games are a fucking – "

"I'm taking him back to the Penthouse," Chaff announced at a stunned Amara as he dragged Haymitch forcefully out of the Games Headquarters. "Shut up – drink something," he growled, pushing a flask into Haymitch's hand just so he would be quiet.

Haymitch ripped his arm away from Chaff's iron grip the moment they entered the Penthouse. "He could have made it," Haymitch slammed his hand angrily on the table. The plates rattled. "If it weren't for the mutts, he could have a chance. I could bring – "

"There's no guarantee he'd win, Haymitch. District One and Two is still in the Games," Chaff reminded.

"I don't know how you do it," Haymitch breathed heavily. "I don't know how – I can't anymore. I'm sick of these Games. It's the same thing year after year and I have to sit here and watch them get killed. I'm fucking done with it, Chaff."

Chaff poured him another drink and he grabbed the glass, downing the contents in one gulp. That was how Chaff coped and this was the only way he knew how to help his friend.

"How could they," Haymitch moved to the window and gestured wildly at the crowd below, "not see it for what it is? Hey! Hey, you morons," he pounded on the window, "you murderers! You're all child killers and you're – "

"Shut up! Haymitch, shut the hell up," Chaff crossed the distance and smacked his head. His eyes darted all over the Penthouse, searching. "Shut up, right now."

"What is the meaning of this?" Amara demanded as she stepped into the Penthouse, having finally caught up with them. "Did you make him drunk again?"

"Not now. Get lost," Chaff snapped.

Haymitch's eyes were fixed on his escort and he directed his anger towards her. He staggered forward. "You," he breathed. "Look at you. You know what you are, Amara? You're a murderer. You kill those children. How many have you killed? How many?" he screamed. "You and your fucking Capitol are nothing but – "

"I'm calling the Peacekeeper," Amara declared. Her eyes were wide and fixed on Haymitch, watching his every move with fright. "I don't feel safe in his presence. I'm calling the Peacekeepers on him for assaulting an escort, for threatening the Head Gamemaker and for verbally attacking the good name of the Capitol. How dare he think he'll get away with this? He's gotten away with too much!"

"Don't do that," Chaff said hastily. "Come on, Amara, don't do that. Tell me, love, what do you want?"

"You're just the same as him," Amara spat, finally able to speak up against all the times Chaff had angered her. She took a step towards the door.

Chaff went forward, reaching out for her to try and talk some sense or come to a compromise at the same time that Haymitch lunged at her. Amara stepped back and Haymitch fell on the ground, his head hitting the floor with a thud.

"I think he cracked his head," Amara said.

"Bitch," Haymitch muttered which did not help matters because it reminded Amara of the anger she felt and she left the Penthouse, leaving Chaff to deal with him.

"You've done it, Haymitch," Chaff heaved as he hauled him to his feet and disposed him at the sofa. "Your escort's gonna come back with the cavalry."

Haymitch snorted, waving his hand carelessly. He reached out for the bottle again to have another drink.

"They've already killed my family. What else are they going to do to me? Nothing, Chaff. They ain't gonna do nothing to me. They can't touch me," he laughed bitter and vicious. "They can't touch me."

"You're not invincible, Haymitch. Don't ever think that you are. They can kill you," Chaff told him seriously. He desperately needed a drink but Haymitch was already gone and he had to remain sober for once, for his friend's sake. "They can - "

The footsteps alerted them to someone's presence and when Chaff looked up, four Peacekeepers were there with Amara.

"He's right there," Amara gestured towards the sofa.

Chaff shot Amara a disgruntled look. Haymitch stared blankly as the Peacekeepers approached him but when they grabbed him, he fought back, pulling his knife out and swinging it at the Peacekeepers. One of the Peacekeepers knocked the back of his head with a gun and Haymitch stumbled, lying on the floor and not getting up.

Chaff tried to talk to them out of it but after Haymitch's attack, they refused to listen. Amara had filed a report against him and his violent behaviour did not do him any favours. They dragged him out of the Penthouse.

The prison he was brought to was different than the one he had been thrown into that one time two years ago when Chaff had gotten him so drunk he had urinated in public. This prison was cold and dark. The guards were more hostile with him.

"Where's this place?" he demanded.

Haymitch was not expecting an answer just as he was not expecting the blow to his stomach. He doubled over, groaning in pain. He had barely straightened up when another punch landed on his right. They left his face untouched but the blows and punches came one after another; on his chest, his ribs and his stomach. He couldn't catch his breath and he couldn't defend himself. Haymitch crumpled to floor, covering his head protectively with his arms.

It wasn't a good position to be in because the Peacekeepers were freely kicking him until someone grabbed his collar so he was face to face with the man.

"You are a citizen of Panem, are you not?" the man shook him.

"Fuck off," he groaned, spitting out blood.

"Answer the question," he roared with another punch to his ribs.

"Yes," Haymitch coughed. "Yes, yes. What – What do you want?"

He laughed. "I want you to know that you owe your life to the Capitol. The district would have crumpled without the Capitol. You should remember that, Abernathy. Your house, your money and the food you eat, you owe it to this great city."

Haymitch chuckled but even that simple act caused his sides to explode in pain.

"Sure," Haymitch nodded with a mocking smile on his lips, "sure."

The Peacekeeper didn't find that satisfactory so he turned to his colleague, releasing his hold on Haymitch. Haymitch collapsed.

"Burn his district. If he's not going to learn his lesson in here then perhaps -"

"No," Haymitch's head snapped up. He pushed himself up. "No, no – there are people… children…"

"We can't kill you, Abernathy. Twelve needs a mentor but there are always other ways..."

"No, I get – I get it," he inhaled deeply. "You leave my district the fuck alone."

"Sir?" a Peacekeeper asked.

"It'll be fun to see it burn," the man smirked.

He was dragged again to another room, his body weak and boneless and he was made to watch as the Peacekeepers in Twelve received their orders, setting fire to The Hob. It was a small fire but he saw Sae's stalls went up in flames. Haymitch closed his eyes briefly, thankful that Sae was not there.

Haymitch received the message loud and clear.

"Next time, it'll be people's houses. You keep your mouth shut, Abernathy."

The door to the room open and from his position on the floor, he saw a pair of shiny shoes entered the room.

"I trust the lesson has been sufficiently imparted?" the newcomer asked.

"Yes, sir. I think he's learnt his lesson. He still needs to be detained -"

"I will take it from here. He needs to be briefed first and foremost, and then we'll see about the rest of his sentencing."

"I need a fucking hospital," Haymitch groaned, pressing his hand against his stomach.

"That, too," the voice chuckled.

XxX

He remained awake throughout his treatment. The doctors had been ordered not to afford him the luxury of being unconscious.

Haymitch was wheezing, breathing through his nose. He had two fracture ribs which he was told would heal on its own, a punctured lung and multiple contusions all over the trunk of his body.

His hospital room was at the moment, under lockdown. Neither Amara, Chaff or Beetee could enter. It was a few hours later when the doctors and nurses were finally done with him that the same man from earlier entered. He wore a fine suit, tailored specifically for him with his blonde hair combed neatly.  _No wig, no dye job,_  Haymitch noted.

There was a warm disposition about him and his eyes twinkled as he approached the bed. He seemed happy and jovial. Haymitch disliked him for being too cheerful.

"Good evening, Haymitch. I'm Plutarch Heavensbee."

"Don't care," Haymitch mumbled. "Say what you gotta say and then get out."

Being a Gamemaker meant that Haymitch had seen Plutarch Heavensbee around, of course, but he never had much cause to strike up any conversation. Haymitch wasn't in the habit of socialising with Gamemakers. A few times, he had caught Plutarch looking at him but the man made no move to approach him and so Haymitch thought nothing of it.

"This is Fulvia Cardew," he gestured at his assistance. He took a seat on the empty chair, retrieve some papers from his briefcase and spread them all over the hospital table in front of Haymitch. At first glance, they were all Games related documents. But under the table, on Haymitch's bed, Plutarch set down a small device.

The smile was still fixed on his face like a permanent feature as if all this was normal for him. He switched on the device. Haymitch knew because a green light came on.

"We can talk freely now," Fulvia confirmed.

"There are bugs in this hospital room just as there are bugs in your Penthouse," Plutarch explained "There's a camera at the top right hand corner - don't look at it. They can see us but they can't hear us because of this," he tapped the device. "For all intents and purposes, I am here to brief you on proper mentoring behaviour since it usually falls on Junior Gamemakers like myself to do this tedious job of keeping Games personnel in line."

"What the - " Haymitch started. This was all new to him. Five years and nobody told him about bugs. No wonder Chaff was frantic when he started mouthing off earlier.

"What you did was very foolish," Plutarch went on.

"Are there bugs in my room?"

"Yes," Plutarch affirmed. "Don't get rid of it or they will be suspicious. There are several others in the living room and the dining room of the Penthouse. The trains, too. Suffice to say, there are eyes and ears everywhere in the Capitol."

"You're a Gamemaker," Haymitch pointed out not quite understanding why  _he_  of all people was telling him all this. "You work for Snow."

"I am," Plutarch plucked a paper and pretended to scrutinise it before handing it over to Haymitch. "I understand that you do not like the Capitol."

Haymitch blinked and then he let out a chuckle. "You're fucking kidding me, right? You don't get to ask questions like that – it's fucking suicide. They whip you for that in the districts, if you're lucky. If not, the firing squad."

"I am not 'kidding' you as you put it and yes, Haymitch, I am very well aware of the punishment for dissent in the districts. Here, there are accidental deaths, if you know what I mean?"

"Look," Haymitch began, "I don't know you and I don't trust you. You're sitting there talking 'bout things that could – "

"I have been watching you since you won the Games," Plutarch interrupted. "I have  _never_  seen anything like what you did with the forcefield and as a Gamemaker I had to watch every single Games there ever was," there was a certain admiration in his voice when he talked about Haymitch's Games. "The confines of the arena didn't seem to stop you. You think far and beyond, and you use what is around you to your advantage. We need someone like you, we need a mind like yours."

"What the fuck are you talking about? Who's we?"

"What is the use of raging against the Capitol, Haymitch?" Plutarch leaned forward in his seat and held Haymitch's gaze. "You will get your loved ones killed or in your case, already dead. And it'll get you beatings like the one you had and your district burnt to the ground."

Haymitch blinked, giving a slight shake of his head. He glanced around the hospital room just to be sure he was here and this was not his drunken brain playing tricks on him. He spotted the camera Plutarch was talking about.

"Is this a trap?" he said suddenly, pulling the blanket back and ready to bolt.

"Please don't do that," Plutarch said softly. "The camera can see you and this is supposed to be a discussion with no reason for you to be alarmed. I implore you to hear me out, and please act accordingly for the cameras until I leave. I am risking my life here talking to you."

"You said you were watching me."

"We watch all new victors. After what they did do your family, we believe we could harness your anger and your...  _feelings_  for the Capitol into something more fulfilling," Fulvia said in a matter of fact tone.

"Still not making sense, sweetheart, and I'm sure it's not 'cause I'm under heavy pain medication either."

"There is a group of us banded together with a common goal in mind. We're underground, in the shadows and therefore recruitment has to be done very, very carefully," Plutarch told him impatiently. "We are fighting for a better Panem; a better future for all of us and we need someone in District Twelve. I have heard whispers of a possible uprising in Twelve."

Haymitch kept quiet. He neither denied nor confirmed that. Growing up in the harsh condition of Twelve, it was only natural that the feelings of unfairness and injustice bubbled to the surface and people did talk about fighting back. But the problem with people in Twelve was that they talk but they were never a brave bunch to do more than that. Even if they did muster the courage, it needed to be an organised movement or it would be doomed to fail. Haymitch knew this and when Aspen had first whispered angrily about fighting back and how it fell on them to change the future, Haymitch had told him it would not be possible without the eleven other districts. Aspen had deflated and there no more talks about it.

"Haymitch?"

"The way I see it, you Capitol citizens are already in a better position. So why fight? Why jeopardise everything you have now? What future do you mean and how the fuck would I know that it would benefit us, too?"

Fulvia huffed impatiently.

"Life here in the Capitol isn't at all like how you imagined it, Haymitch. I don't expect you to know and I don't blame you for being ignorant of it. It's no different than how most of us here are ignorant of the situation in the districts. But the future we're talking about is one without the Games."

Haymitch inhaled sharply only for him to have a coughing fit. His chest hurt so badly.

"I don't expect an answer now. Or at all, for that matter," Plutarch informed him. "Not everyone wants to fight but I trust you not to say anything. That is the only thing I ask of you. Keep this between us three."

"That is a lot of trusts to place in someone you don't even know," Haymitch pointed out. "Risky business talking 'bout going against the Capitol right here in the Capitol itself."

"Riskier still if I were to go to Twelve, isn't it? Unheard of, even."

"I could report you," he said just as Amara had reported him.

"You could but you won't," Plutarch smiled, nodding at the silver cuff on Haymitch's hand which bound him to the hospital bed. "Which brings me to my next point - you are to serve a month in jail here in the Capitol but as a show of good faith, I shall come up with a brief report to say that you fully understood your mistake and that you've shown the appropriate amount of remorse for attacking your escort, and that you regretted what you said about the Capitol."

"I didn't attack her."

"It's her word against yours, Haymitch," Plutarch said, gathering all of his things. "And you do have a penchant for unruly behaviour."

Haymitch kept quiet.

"You have my word," he gave Plutarch a nod. "You were here for proper mentoring behaviour."

"Excellent," he slid a booklet to Haymitch and he laughed lightly. "Read that in case your escort grilled you and you need to answer on how to be a proper mentor."

There was nothing else to say so Haymitch merely watched Plutarch as he packed his things. When he stood up, he said, "I'm not saying that things will change now or in five years. None of us can promise that but this can't go on. I think you know it, too. Children have been punished enough. 55 years is a long time for a punishment, don't you think?"

"What is your plan?" he couldn't help but ask.

"I can't tell you that," Plutarch said. "Not until I know for certain where your loyalties lie and even so, there's a saying that one shouldn't put all the eggs in one basket, yes? You may not trust me but I'm certain you trust your mentor. Why don't you ask Mags about me? This isn't the first conversation we had with a victor."

"Mags?"

"I will see you around."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've just met a young Plutarch Heavensbee :) It took them another 20 or so odd years before the Rebellion take flight. Let me know what you think!


	12. Checkmate, Finnick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by smilebrightsweetheart: Could you maybe continue the 'Meeting Finnick Odair' in the next chapter of Between Lives? Haymitch playing chess wirh Finnick is something I really want to read, it sounds adorable! And also them dealing with the 'fans' Thank you :D
> 
> Meeting Finnick Odair can be found in Chapter 9.

** Checkmate, Finnick **

**_(31 years old)_ **

 

Haymitch ran a lone finger on his lips, strategizing and calculating his move. Finnick was struggling but he was learning.

 

“You use your Queen so carelessly,” Haymitch pointed out.

 

Finnick’s eyes swept over the chessboard, taking the pieces in but he wasn’t seeing the game the way Haymitch was. Haymitch saw moves and counter-moves; he saw power shifting from one piece to another but was always mindful of the Queen. Finnick didn’t; he saw a possible step and he took it.

 

“Am I? I’m not,” Finnick denied.

 

"You're doing all you can to keep your King safe and for what? It's powerful, yeah, but it's also one of the weakest pieces. And look at that," Haymitch gestured, emphasising his point, "you block off all access routes for your Queen. How is she gonna move? Her power's wasted over there."

 

The teenager frowned, still intently studying his pieces. "I don't understand,” he mumbled under his breath. “Each time I move a piece forward, you beat me to it."

 

"I beat you _two_ steps to it," Haymitch gloated with a maddening, self-satisfied smirk. "You got to think ahead, anticipate _my_ moves before I make them."

 

“And in chess, the pawns always go first – you should sacrifice them,” Effie piped in from where she was sitting with her legs crossed and a fashion magazine on her lap.

 

“Not necessarily,” Haymitch countered. “Pawns can be useful. You shouldn’t discard pawns as if they meant nothing.”

 

"Like us," Finnick said bitterly, breaking the tone of the game to route it back to a topic that hit too close to home. "We're the pawns, aren't we, Haymitch? President Snow's playing - "

 

"Hey, sweetheart, where did you say Mags was?" Haymitch asked loudly, drowning Finnick's voice out.

 

Haymitch saw the confusion on Finnick’s face and the slight surprise that he would abruptly cut him off mid-sentence in that manner. Effie raised her head, looking at Haymitch but she had worked with him long enough to know his paranoia about hidden bugs that she let the change in subject slide.

 

Effie stood up, putting the magazine away. “I will send Mags over. I heard she was out for lunch, thanking the sponsors that had pledged their money for you,” she turned towards Finnick. “I should go. I need to pick up my dress and Haymitch’s suit for the Victory Party, and I’ll have to meet Finnick’s escort for to choose her dress.”

 

“I didn’t know you were friendly with Tabitha!” Finnick’s eyes lighted up. “She’s a bit air headed but she’s nice to me.”

 

“Yes, charming girl,” Effie smiled before she addressed Haymitch directly. “You will return to the Penthouse soon after, won’t you?”

 

Haymitch shrugged.

 

“Well, please try not to be _too_ drunk, Haymitch. Finnick’s Victory Party – “

 

“Is in three days,” Haymitch cut her off. “I don’t see why you’re up my ass about it now.”

 

Effie pursed her lips.

 

"You'll be there - both of you?" Finnick seemed relieved, looking at Haymitch and Effie.

 

“This year, yes,” Effie nodded. “Usually, on any other year, Haymitch would already be back in Twelve by now but Mags asked him to stay for your sake. If Haymitch is attending the party, and if Chaff is going to be there with him, then it follows that I would need to. Remember what I said? He needs constant supervision.”

 

“You attend the party every damn year,” Haymitch grumbled just as Finnick teasingly ask, "You sure? Or is it because Haymitch needs you to be his date since he can’t find one?"

 

Haymitch scoffed. “I think you meant the other way ‘round – how she desperately wants to be _my_ date and since this is the rare year that I gotta attend, she’s not letting the chance pass.”

 

“You don’t have to attend if you don’t want to,” Finnick said quickly, desperate to be on Haymitch’s good side. Aside from Mags, Haymitch, Chaff and Effie were the only other people he knew and he quite liked them. “It’ll be great if you’re there but – “

 

“Checkmate,” Haymitch declared.

 

"What - No!" Finnick groaned.

 

“We’ll be there, Finnick. I’ll make sure Haymitch attends,” Effie promised before closing the door quietly behind her.

 

Having lost three times in a row, Finnick sighed and settled back in bed. He pulled out the rope that Mags had left him, unravel the knots he had made earlier before Haymitch and Effie arrived, and knotted them all back again.

 

“Is your life better after your Games?” he asked out of the blue, fingers moving deftly around the rope. He was worried and fearful. “Was it just like how the Capitol promised?”

 

“Is my life better…?” Haymitch mused. His voice was layered with a tinge of bitterness. If Finnick had been looking at him, he would have seen the cloud that passed over Haymitch’s eyes. “If I’m hungry, I know I can get food. Never had to starve since I won the Games… Guess that’s an upgrade,” Haymitch chuckled.

 

Finnick paused and shot him a disgruntled a look. “You’re just messing around with me, Haymitch. I can tell – I’m not stupid.”

 

Haymitch let out a breath. For a long while, he said nothing except to watch Finnick frantically work on his rope as if his life depended on it. It was an odd coping mechanism but who was he to say when he relied so heavily on alcohol.

 

“It’s not what it looks like,” Haymitch crafted his words carefully. He could not speak freely in this room but he also didn’t want to lie to the kid.

 

“What’s not?”

 

“What you see ‘bout Victors on the television… What they show you ‘bout our life especially those who live here in the Capitol when the Games aren’t in session… It’s just that - something for the television. It’s what they _want_ you to see.”

 

“An image… So there’s more?”

 

“There’s always more,” Haymitch folded his arms and slouched in his seat. “What you get from this place, you have to give in return.”

 

Finnick wrinkled his brows and tilted his head to the side before he said, “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“You will sooner or later,” Haymitch shrugged.

 

“Stop patronising – “

 

Finnick broke off. Whatever he wanted to say died on his lips when a nurse entered. Her eyes flickered to Haymitch and then remained fixated on Finnick sitting on the bed. She smiled at him and proceeded to read his charts.

 

She stepped closer to Finnick telling him that she needed to check his vitals and give him a once over. The nurse tilted Finnick’s head carefully and gently brushed his hair back to check his eyes. Her hand lingered briefly on the side of his cheek and Haymitch frowned. Finnick squirmed when the same hand trailed down his arm. Still, she smiled at him.

 

“I’m the nurse on duty for today and I have never been this excited for my shift when I heard that I’ll be on your hospital floor. I’m a big fan. It’s such an honour,” she gushed. “You were truly marvellous in the arena and the way you work with that trident…”

 

Finnick grew uncomfortable at the mention of his arena. His grip on the rope tightened and he glanced at Haymitch, silently asking for his help.

 

But Haymitch was worried about something else. The nurse was standing far too close and she was toying with the hem of Finnick’s shirt. When she took his pulse, Haymitch knew the nurse was just buying for more time to be in the room with the newest victor because it was a ridiculous excuse. She could simply check Finnick’s heart monitor.

 

“I saw you playing chess earlier,” she spoke. “If you’re bored, I can keep you company. I wouldn’t mind. Like I said, I’m really a fan.”

 

“A little less chit chat,” Haymitch growled. “Do what you need to do and leave us.”

 

She startled, taking a step back and Finnick exhaled. “I was just – “

 

“You done or what? Get out,” Haymitch waved her off.  

Finnick said nothing but his eyes tracked the nurse’s every move until she disappeared from the room. Then he turned his gaze towards Haymitch.

“That’s only one,” Haymitch told him, his expression was serious. “You have hundreds of screaming fans outside and they all want your attention. This is what the Capitol promise anyone who won the Games, didn’t they? What happens when you can’t give them your attention or if you won’t? Glory isn’t what you want, yeah? You just wanted to survive but this is what you’re going to get, and kid, winning isn’t all that it’s made up to be.”

Finnick looked away. 


	13. Twelve's Welcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anonymous: Haymitch coming back to Twelve for the first time after his victory. Thank you. :)

 

**Twelve's Welcome  
** **_(16 years old)_ **

His warm breath misted the window as he leaned his forehead against it, nails digging into the palm of his skin. Outside, the scenery rushed past him.

"Home," he uttered the word hesitantly as he forced his mind to wrap itself around the fact that he was on his way back to his district. "I'm going home."

As the words rolled out his tongue, a sharp jolt of familiarity resonated within him. As he slowly replaced the beautiful but deadly images of the arena that he had been seeing each time he closed his eyes with scenes of his house in the Seam and images of his mother and his brother, warmth spread through him. That feeling did not last because layered beneath that was a terrible sense of anxiety gnawing at his heart.

Home was meant to be safe. Home was supposed to be welcoming but right this instance, he wanted nothing more than to run away. Returning to Twelve meant having to face Maysilee's, Aster's and Allan's family. The thought made him anxious and the bile rose in his throat. The four of them were all returning home today. The only difference was that their bodies were lying cold in the coffin at the other end of the train while he was here, alive and breathing.

Throughout the train ride, the same thoughts kept haunting him. Would their families begrudge him for being alive? Would Maysilee's parents and twin sister hate him for it? After all,  _he_ had allowed Maysilee to walk away. He didn't stop her from breaking off their alliance and she died soon after.

"Are you ready?" Mags entered the train compartment. "We're pulling into the station now."

Haymitch opened his eyes at the warmth of her hand as it seeped through his shirt. He craned his neck slightly behind him to see Mags smiling encouragingly at him. Pushing all thoughts and worries to the back of his mind, he clenched his jaws. The expression on his face was a mask of grim determination as he nodded.

The train door slid open, letting in the cold draft of District Twelve's air. He inhaled sharply relishing the sharp smell of coal from the mines in the distant.

The station was filled with people -  _his_ people - all waiting to welcome the second victor for their district. The moment he stepped out from the train, they broke into applause. It surprised him. He took in the faces smiling at him and at the back of his mind he thought he understood this reaction. They knew that because of him they would have full bellies and they were grateful for it.

"You're still on," Mags remind him.

He breathed in, raised his hand and waved at the crowd. The cameras rolled, closing up on him and then panning out to get a reaction shot from the crowd.

"Mitch!" a sharp cried rang out. "Mitch!"

His brother was amongst the crowd and when the Peacekeepers stepped back a little to allow for this reunion to happen so that it would be caught on camera - not that Haymitch was particularly concern about the cameras right now - Lief ran forward, almost stumbling on his feet in his rush to get to his brother. Haymitch descended down the steps in a hurry, meeting his brother halfway. He enveloped Lief in a bone-crushing hug, neatly lifting the younger Abernathy off the ground.

He couldn't breathe. His emotions were threatening to choke him. He missed his brother so much. This was the longest he had ever been away from Lief and Mama. Haymitch buried his face in the crook of his brother's neck and then suddenly, they were laughing.

"I knew you'd come back! I knew you would," Lief's smile was so wide it must hurt his cheeks. "I was so scared when the girl chased you up the cliff."

"You watched my Games?" Haymitch asked sharply. He let his brother down carefully, his hand going to his stomach as he heaved, gritting his teeth at the aching pain that was still present.

"Don't strain yourself too much, Haymitch. We don't want the stitches to split open," Mags warned him

"I had to. Mama wouldn't let me but I had to know," Lief answered and almost cheekily, he added. "Besides, it's mandatory to watch. I got to."

Haymitch frowned. His brother would have seen his fight with the Careers and he would have seen Haymitch killed them. He searched Lief's eyes to see if he was ashamed for having a murderer as a brother.

Before he could dwell too much on it, his mother who had patiently waited as the two brothers reunited, called out to him and that was all it needed for Haymitch to step forward, pulling his mother against him. He couldn't remember the last time he had initiated a hug with Mama, probably since he was fifteen when it was embarrassing for his mother to still kiss and hug him in public but now, he wanted the comfort that only his mother could give.

"Mama," he breathed in her scent. Quietly, he whispered in her ear, "I miss you."

His mother was a strong woman, resolute and hardened by circumstances. Haymitch had only seen her cry once when his father died but never when times were hard or when they were struggling but now, at the train station, in front of all these people, as she welcomed back her first born, the tears flowed freely down Isla Abernathy's face.

"Why you crying? Don't cry," he smiled and cupped his mother's cheek. He kissed her forehead, hoping to give her the same kind of comfort she had always given him and wrapped his arms around her again. "You didn't lose me, Mama. I'm home. I got you now."

"I know," she nodded. "I thought I had to bury you like I did your father. I'm so happy you're home. I'm so, so relieved."

"We're gonna be okay, Mama," he told her. "Our lives are gonna be different now."

Haymitch released his mother but kept an arm around her. The woman clutched to his shirt as if she was afraid he might be taken away a second time. He squeezed her shoulder in assurance and that was when he spotted Myra, walking with Aspen, Iris, Hazelle and Toby Hawthorne.

Her face broke into a wide grin and then she punched his shoulder. He smirked.

"You call that a punch?" he teased.

"I'm going to kiss him, Mrs. Abernathy," Myra said, eyes twinkling. Isla laughed and waved a hand, giving her permission. She stood on tiptoes and kissed him.

With his free hand, Haymitch gripped her shoulder and returned the kiss, pulling away soon after. He cleared his throat, embarrassed that his friends saw that or worst, Lief, who pretended to gag.

"Did you stay with Mama?" Haymitch asked.

Myra nodded. "I came over every day. We watched your Games together. I couldn't - I didn't want your family to be alone."

Haymitch nodded.

The camera crews were not intrusive and they filmed a few distances away that Haymitch completely forgot of their existence; forgot to pretend. Miles away, in the Capitol, President Snow watched the scene unfold with increasing interest. He leaned back in his seat, closed the book he had been reading and turned towards his advisor. He gave his advisor a curt nod. It was a simple nod that would eventually seal the fate of the three people Haymitch cared about. The advisor left the room, heels clicking against the floor. President Snow turned off the television to retire for the night, comforted by the knowledge that the little problem in the form of Panem's newest Victor would soon be taken care off.

Back in Twelve, Aspen Everdeen had nudged Myra aside to embrace his friend. He slapped Haymitch's back.

"Good to have you back," he grinned.

Haymitch nodded but his eyes trailed over to Iris, standing next to Aspen. Her eyes were red and puffy, and it was evident that she had been crying for days. Maysilee was her best friend and Haymitch felt the need to say something.

"I'm - I'm sorry…" Haymitch swallowed, staring at Iris. "About Maysilee… I know you both are - "

Iris bravely gave him a small smile and shook her head, saying, "There was nothing you could do," before shaking his hand and added, "I'm glad you at least made it home. I - I should be with Marilyn. She's been... Ever since Maysilee... I better go. See you around."

His gaze followed her as she joined the Donner's family standing around a coffin. Allan's and Aster's family were there, too. Haymitch broke off, walking away from the people surrounding him while mumbling under his breath about needing a minute.

Aspen followed, nudged forward by Haymitch's mother.

As Haymitch approached them, the three families raised their heads, watching him coming closer.

He stopped before Maysilee's father, the person closest to him. "Sir, I'm - " Haymitch began only to be interrupted.

"Don't apologise, son. Don't apologise," the man chided him gently. He was holding on to Marilyn who leaned heavily against her father, inconsolable in her grief.

Haymitch tore his gaze away knowing that the person in the coffin bore the same face as her. Aster's mother was sobbing, pressing a handkerchief to her mouth but she came forward, taking Haymitch's hand in hers.

"I saw you with her…" she said between sobs. Haymitch leaned forward to try and make out the words. "I saw you with my Aster at the Parade, looking out for her. Thank you. Thank you for being her friend."

Haymitch didn't know what she meant because there were no friends in the arena. It was everyone for themselves. At the Cornucopia, while the other 47 tributes were stunned by the beauty of the arena, Aster included, Haymitch had seized the opportunity, knowing that this was his only chance to get supplies and dashed to the Cornucopia where he retrieved a backpack. He had fled even before the Careers had gotten to the Cornucopia. Haymitch had not turned back to look for Aster, Allan or even Maysilee; he never stopped for a second to check if they were still alive.

Haymitch looked away, ashamed.

Allan's family said nothing to him and he didn't expect them too. Haymitch watched them all leave, each family bearing a coffin of their dead ones.

"The Capitol did this," Aspen gritted his teeth, a statement that Haymitch would repeat over and over two weeks later. "And we let them."

"Don't start," Haymitch warned.

"Let's go home," Lief said, coming to a stand next to him. "Let's go. We've got a new house now and I really wanna see it."

"You've seen Victor's Village before," Haymitch pointed out.

"Yeah, but never on the inside. Come on, you can tell me all about how the Capitol's like over dinner! Is it true that some people look like cats? With whiskers?"

"I'm tired," Haymitch said suddenly. "I think I'm gonna sleep when we're back."

"Oh," his brother mumbled dejectedly.

Lief had looked forward to having Haymitch back for days, since he won his Games but all Haymitch wanted was to be left alone.

Requested by Anonymous: I have two ideas for Between Lives, I hope you don't mind.  **1\. Haymitch coming back to Twelve for the first time after his victory and**  2. Haymitch realizing for the first time that he feels attracted to Effie or maybe even has feelings for her. I hope you'll write at least one of it. Thank you. :)

**Twelve's Welcome  
** **_(16 years old)_ **

His warm breath misted the window as he leaned his forehead against it, nails digging into the palm of his skin. Outside, the scenery rushed past him.

"Home," he uttered the word hesitantly as he forced his mind to wrap itself around the fact that he was on his way back to his district. "I'm going home."

As the words rolled out his tongue, a sharp jolt of familiarity resonated within him. As he slowly replaced the beautiful but deadly images of the arena that he had been seeing each time he closed his eyes with scenes of his house in the Seam and images of his mother and his brother, warmth spread through him. That feeling did not last because layered beneath that was a terrible sense of anxiety gnawing at his heart.

Home was meant to be safe. Home was supposed to be welcoming but right this instance, he wanted nothing more than to run away. Returning to Twelve meant having to face Maysilee's, Aster's and Allan's family. The thought made him anxious and the bile rose in his throat. The four of them were all returning home today. The only difference was that their bodies were lying cold in the coffin at the other end of the train while he was here, alive and breathing.

Throughout the train ride, the same thoughts kept haunting him. Would their families begrudge him for being alive? Would Maysilee's parents and twin sister hate him for it? After all,  _he_ had allowed Maysilee to walk away. He didn't stop her from breaking off their alliance and she died soon after.

"Are you ready?" Mags entered the train compartment. "We're pulling into the station now."

Haymitch opened his eyes at the warmth of her hand as it seeped through his shirt. He craned his neck slightly behind him to see Mags smiling encouragingly at him. Pushing all thoughts and worries to the back of his mind, he clenched his jaws. The expression on his face was a mask of grim determination as he nodded.

The train door slid open, letting in the cold draft of District Twelve's air. He inhaled sharply relishing the sharp smell of coal from the mines in the distant.

The station was filled with people -  _his_ people - all waiting to welcome the second victor for their district. The moment he stepped out from the train, they broke into applause. It surprised him. He took in the faces smiling at him and at the back of his mind he thought he understood this reaction. They knew that because of him they would have full bellies and they were grateful for it.

"You're still on," Mags remind him.

He breathed in, raised his hand and waved at the crowd. The cameras rolled, closing up on him and then panning out to get a reaction shot from the crowd.

"Mitch!" a sharp cried rang out. "Mitch!"

His brother was amongst the crowd and when the Peacekeepers stepped back a little to allow for this reunion to happen so that it would be caught on camera - not that Haymitch was particularly concern about the cameras right now - Lief ran forward, almost stumbling on his feet in his rush to get to his brother. Haymitch descended down the steps in a hurry, meeting his brother halfway. He enveloped Lief in a bone-crushing hug, neatly lifting the younger Abernathy off the ground.

He couldn't breathe. His emotions were threatening to choke him. He missed his brother so much. This was the longest he had ever been away from Lief and Mama. Haymitch buried his face in the crook of his brother's neck and then suddenly, they were laughing.

"I knew you'd come back! I knew you would," Lief's smile was so wide it must hurt his cheeks. "I was so scared when the girl chased you up the cliff."

"You watched my Games?" Haymitch asked sharply. He let his brother down carefully, his hand going to his stomach as he heaved, gritting his teeth at the aching pain that was still present.

"Don't strain yourself too much, Haymitch. We don't want the stitches to split open," Mags warned him

"I had to. Mama wouldn't let me but I had to know," Lief answered and almost cheekily, he added. "Besides, it's mandatory to watch. I got to."

Haymitch frowned. His brother would have seen his fight with the Careers and he would have seen Haymitch killed them. He searched Lief's eyes to see if he was ashamed for having a murderer as a brother.

Before he could dwell too much on it, his mother who had patiently waited as the two brothers reunited, called out to him and that was all it needed for Haymitch to step forward, pulling his mother against him. He couldn't remember the last time he had initiated a hug with Mama, probably since he was fifteen when it was embarrassing for his mother to still kiss and hug him in public but now, he wanted the comfort that only his mother could give.

"Mama," he breathed in her scent. Quietly, he whispered in her ear, "I miss you."

His mother was a strong woman, resolute and hardened by circumstances. Haymitch had only seen her cry once when his father died but never when times were hard or when they were struggling but now, at the train station, in front of all these people, as she welcomed back her first born, the tears flowed freely down Isla Abernathy's face.

"Why you crying? Don't cry," he smiled and cupped his mother's cheek. He kissed her forehead, hoping to give her the same kind of comfort she had always given him and wrapped his arms around her again. "You didn't lose me, Mama. I'm home. I got you now."

"I know," she nodded. "I thought I had to bury you like I did your father. I'm so happy you're home. I'm so, so relieved."

"We're gonna be okay, Mama," he told her. "Our lives are gonna be different now."

Haymitch released his mother but kept an arm around her. The woman clutched to his shirt as if she was afraid he might be taken away a second time. He squeezed her shoulder in assurance and that was when he spotted Myra, walking with Aspen, Iris, Hazelle and Toby Hawthorne.

Her face broke into a wide grin and then she punched his shoulder. He smirked.

"You call that a punch?" he teased.

"I'm going to kiss him, Mrs. Abernathy," Myra said, eyes twinkling. Isla laughed and waved a hand, giving her permission. She stood on tiptoes and kissed him.

With his free hand, Haymitch gripped her shoulder and returned the kiss, pulling away soon after. He cleared his throat, embarrassed that his friends saw that or worst, Lief, who pretended to gag.

"Did you stay with Mama?" Haymitch asked.

Myra nodded. "I came over every day. We watched your Games together. I couldn't - I didn't want your family to be alone."

Haymitch nodded.

The camera crews were not intrusive and they filmed a few distances away that Haymitch completely forgot of their existence; forgot to pretend. Miles away, in the Capitol, President Snow watched the scene unfold with increasing interest. He leaned back in his seat, closed the book he had been reading and turned towards his advisor. He gave his advisor a curt nod. It was a simple nod that would eventually seal the fate of the three people Haymitch cared about. The advisor left the room, heels clicking against the floor. President Snow turned off the television to retire for the night, comforted by the knowledge that the little problem in the form of Panem's newest Victor would soon be taken care off.

Back in Twelve, Aspen Everdeen had nudged Myra aside to embrace his friend. He slapped Haymitch's back.

"Good to have you back," he grinned.

Haymitch nodded but his eyes trailed over to Iris, standing next to Aspen. Her eyes were red and puffy, and it was evident that she had been crying for days. Maysilee was her best friend and Haymitch felt the need to say something.

"I'm - I'm sorry…" Haymitch swallowed, staring at Iris. "About Maysilee… I know you both are - "

Iris bravely gave him a small smile and shook her head, saying, "There was nothing you could do," before shaking his hand and added, "I'm glad you at least made it home. I - I should be with Marilyn. She's been... Ever since Maysilee... I better go. See you around."

His gaze followed her as she joined the Donner's family standing around a coffin. Allan's and Aster's family were there, too. Haymitch broke off, walking away from the people surrounding him while mumbling under his breath about needing a minute.

Aspen followed, nudged forward by Haymitch's mother.

As Haymitch approached them, the three families raised their heads, watching him coming closer.

He stopped before Maysilee's father, the person closest to him. "Sir, I'm - " Haymitch began only to be interrupted.

"Don't apologise, son. Don't apologise," the man chided him gently. He was holding on to Marilyn who leaned heavily against her father, inconsolable in her grief.

Haymitch tore his gaze away knowing that the person in the coffin bore the same face as her. Aster's mother was sobbing, pressing a handkerchief to her mouth but she came forward, taking Haymitch's hand in hers.

"I saw you with her…" she said between sobs. Haymitch leaned forward to try and make out the words. "I saw you with my Aster at the Parade, looking out for her. Thank you. Thank you for being her friend."

Haymitch didn't know what she meant because there were no friends in the arena. It was everyone for themselves. At the Cornucopia, while the other 47 tributes were stunned by the beauty of the arena, Aster included, Haymitch had seized the opportunity, knowing that this was his only chance to get supplies and dashed to the Cornucopia where he retrieved a backpack. He had fled even before the Careers had gotten to the Cornucopia. Haymitch had not turned back to look for Aster, Allan or even Maysilee; he never stopped for a second to check if they were still alive.

Haymitch looked away, ashamed.

Allan's family said nothing to him and he didn't expect them too. Haymitch watched them all leave, each family bearing a coffin of their dead ones.

"The Capitol did this," Aspen gritted his teeth, a statement that Haymitch would repeat over and over two weeks later. "And we let them."

"Don't start," Haymitch warned.

"Let's go home," Lief said, coming to a stand next to him. "Let's go. We've got a new house now and I really wanna see it."

"You've seen Victor's Village before," Haymitch pointed out.

"Yeah, but never on the inside. Come on, you can tell me all about how the Capitol's like over dinner! Is it true that some people look like cats? With whiskers?"

"I'm tired," Haymitch said suddenly. "I think I'm gonna sleep when we're back."

"Oh," his brother mumbled dejectedly.

Lief had looked forward to having Haymitch back for days, since he won his Games but all Haymitch wanted was to be left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a funny feeling when I was writing Isla and Lief Abernathy + Myra since I know at the back of my head that in the timeline, in two weeks, these characters will be dead.


	14. Extracting A Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by marizpe: Well I have another prompt, I know that I must wait a while, but here it is: Haymitch cuts his hand and need stitches, so he went to the Everdeens house for help, there he saw Iris, Aspen and baby Katniss, and before Haymitch leaves, Aspen made him promise that if one day Katniss or his future children were reaped he is going to save them, Aspen also told him that he is going to teach them how to survive and hunt but in the arena Haymitch must do watherver it takes to save them.

 

**Extracting A Promise**   
**_(27 years old)_ **

Haymitch was propped on a chair with his right hand bleeding from a cut he sustained from a broken glass. His breath smelt of liqour and his eyes were slightly unfocused. That was until Iris brought the cloth to his skin and he cursed in pain, suddenly quite alert.

Raising his head slowly, Haymitch turned this way and that, taking in his surrounding and trying to understand what was so familiar about this house. Had he been here before?

Flashes of memories filtered through his mind; him when he was a child, peeking through a slit in the wooden planks to see if his friend could join him to play; him sitting on this table doing someone else's homework; him begging for help because his brother was starving and him sitting forlornly on the front steps, missing his father desperately as Aspen tried to comfort him.

His eyes widened and he turned his head slightly. His gaze landed on the person he was thinking about. Haymitch turned his gaze away when his suspicions were confirmed fully intending on ignoring him until Iris was done doing whatever it was she was doing on his hand.

Aspen on the other hand was watching him as he stood against the wall with his arms folded together. His face was taut and his body was tense, and Haymitch didn't need to be a genius to figure out it was because he was here. The rift between them was wide, and Haymitch on his part made no effort to reach out to him. Eleven years was a long time and between then and now, a lot of things had changed. If Haymitch ever needed any proof that they were two different people and that their lives had taken on two different paths despite their childhood friendship, all he needed to do was to look around him.

Aspen was married now with a kid who was at the moment studying him with obvious curiousity. The little girl's dark hair was neatly braided and her grey eyes were alight with wonderment at this stranger she had never met before. She clutched the fabric of her father's pants, curious yet distrustful.

Haymitch cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow at her. She hid behind her father's leg.

"Her name's Katniss," Aspen voice shattered the silence and with a hint of pride, he added, "She's my girl."

"Yeah, I figured," Haymitch snorted. "Got that Seam look down a pat."

Aspen's chest puffed out slightly at that, and he smirked at his wife, teasingly.

"How old are you, Katniss?" Aspen nudged her forward. "That old man wants to know but he ain't gonna open his mouth to ask it himself."

Katniss lifted up three fingers, looking up at Aspen for affirmation. He nodded and patted his daughter's head.

"Same as Nolan's little girl, yeah? Did you plan it together?" Haymitch taunted.

Although to be honest, he was actually surprised he remembered that small detail about Nolan's daughter. Between being slightly inebriated and meeting his new escort the previous year, he didn't expect to remember something as insignificant as the age of the mayor's daughter.

Aspen laughed. His eyes were bright as he shook his head at Haymitch, the way he often did as a young boy when Haymitch said something amusing. For that split second of time it felt as if they were fourteen again and sitting behind the school after class, throwing marbles.

Iris cleaned the cut once more before preparing to stitch his wounds. He hissed at the stinging pain when the needle went through.

"You've seen Hazelle's boy? The kid's four… Maybe five now," Aspen told him.

"No," he gritted his teeth as he tried hard to ignore Iris stitching him up.

"You would if you leave the house once in a while," Aspen chided him.

"Don't plan to," Haymitch mumbled.

"Gale's as fierce as his father," Aspen went on and for a wild moment, Haymitch had a feeling that he might be trying to distract him from the pain. "Toby's already planning on teaching him a thing or two about snares once he's old enough to understand."

"Oh, yeah? That's a good skill to know for the Games – might help him survive a day or two in the arena. Hell, the boy could even sell his skills for sponsors or I could play it for the mentors in other districts for an alliance," Haymitch commented without a thought.

He realised too late the effect his words would have on Aspen and Iris. This was the lengthiest conversation Aspen and Haymitch had since Haymitch's self-imposed isolation and evesince he became a mentor, his brain was wired to automatically work out how a child's strengths and weaknesses could benefit or kill them.

The temperature in the room plunged. Aspen snapped his mouth shut. Iris paused, hands stilled in the mid act of tying the knot on his stitches before she exchanged an uneasy glance with her husband.

Katniss's eyes sparkled and she took a step towards Haymitch. "Game? Are you playing a game? Can I play too?"

Haymitch sucked in a breath at the question.

"Fuck," he cursed.

Katniss scampered back towards Aspen when she heard the tone in Haymitch's voice.

There were many reasons why Haymitch chose to keep to himself but amongst those was the fact that he was incapable of holding a normal conversation with people in this district without him saying something that could potentially make them uncomfortable.

What was he supposed to talk about? The mines? He never had to work in the mines. Was he supposed to sit around and talk about the living conditions in Twelve because the Capitol put him up in Victor's Village, gave him money which he spent on alcohol mostly and there were always enough food for him. Effie Trinket had also taken to sending him clothes even though she had only just started working for Twelve. His life was not the same as the rest of them here in Twelve and no matter what he said or how much he tried, they would always think he was better off than them. Eventually he stopped trying.

He had one foot in the Capitol and for a long time now, he had not felt like he belonged in Twelve either. He was lost.

Haymitch pressed the heel of his good hand on his eyes. "Look, I didn't mean – "

He broke off, unsure what he was supposed to be apologising for exactly. Sorry for being a mess? Sorry for being a mentor? Sorry for not being able to stop thinking like a mentor who only saw district children as likely tributes?

"Will it increase her chances?" Aspen said suddenly, jerking forward.

"What?"

"If I were to teach her to hunt; use a weapon, make snares. Teach her how to survive…"

"How are you gonna do that, Aspen? Take her to the woods? You're gonna train her like some Career?"

"Will it increase her chances if she's reaped, Haymitch?" Aspen insisted on an answer.

"She's not in the Games. She's not in the Games," Iris whispered and touched her husband's hand.

"Yeah, Aspen," Haymitch sneered. "Your kid's right there. She's not in the Games."

"Her name is going to be in that bowl, Haymitch. She could be reaped. The odds… " Aspen ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly agitated. "I'll teach her all I can but you gotta promise me, Haymitch, that you'll do all you can to get her back home alive. You promise me, please," he begged suddenly, desperate for his daughter's life. "If any of my children – "

Haymitch stood up abruptly, his chair flying back.

"Haymitch, wait," Iris pleaded. "Let me just – "

He moved his hand out of her reach and fixed Aspen with a stare. "Don't ever try to get me into making that sort of promises. Don't ever do that," he hissed. "You don't know what you're asking of me. You don't know what it's like…"

Haymitch stopped, breathing heavily.

"The Haymitch I knew would help me if I ask, just as I'd give him my help," Aspen said.

"Yeah? Then where were you when I needed you?"

"That's not fair, Haymitch," Iris frowned. "You pushed him away."

He stared at them. His lips twisted into a sardonic grin and then he laughed bitterly. He ran his hand down his face. Now that the effect of the alcohol had mostly dulled, he could feel everything more acutely; the throbbing in his hand, the ache in his bones, the exhaustion that was constantly present. Without another word, he moved towards the door only to pause in front of Katniss.

He looked at the girl. She stared back, brows furrowed together.

"Let's just hope you make it past your eighteenth birthday without Trinket calling your name, kid," he mumbled and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to title this as "Meeting Katniss Everdeen" but I'll save that "first" meeting when Katniss actually remembers him, and he has a conversation with her. What do you think of this?


	15. Crossing Paths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by TomHr: Four times Haymitch and Effie run into former escort Amara: (1) Right after newbie escort Effie has lost her first two tributes, (2) Right after Katniss and Peeta win the 74th HG, (3) After the end of the Second Rebellion and (4) After the news media announces Haymitch's and Effie's engagement (or marriage).
> 
> I enjoyed writing this prompt! But just to let you guys know in advance, I didn't write the fourth bit because I didn't think it would happen. If they ever got engage/married, they would keep it to themselves and wouldn't tell the media, and by the time the media picks it up, it's probably old news. It's just something I feel personally.
> 
> Effie's first year as an escort is in Chapter 8 - Keeping Effie Trinket.

 

**_1 - Right after Effie lost her first two tributes_ **

**_61_ ** **_st_ ** **_Games (27 years old)_ **

The Sponsor Lounge was buzzing with activity. Mentors mingled with sponsors; some standing by the bar talking and building rapport, others sitting around a table extoling the tributes' strength in the hopes of getting into the sponsor's wallet while some, like Haymitch, tried to find someone who was even interested in their tributes.

They were interested in talking to him, of course. They were always interested in talking to a victor but that was the extent of it. Once the topic shifted to Twelve's tributes, they lost their enthusiasm. Haymitch found this whole thing exhausting but Effie had insisted and he did it to shut her up.

"Did your flirting get you anywhere?" he sneered.

"No," she sighed dejectedly. "I will try harder. What about you? I saw you talking to Madam Vita."

"She's old and lonely. She just wants someone to talk with about her damn cats," Haymitch growled.

"Well... Certainly you can charm that lonely, old woman into giving us some money. Tell her you'll visit her and her cats in return."

"I hate cats."

"You're not taking this seriously, Haymitch. With that attitude, cats won't like you either. They're a good judge of character, you know," Effie told him seriously.

"Oh, yeah? What are you trying to say about my character, sweetheart? Answer carefully or I'll have you fired. Won't look good on your resume to be fired after only a year of - "

"They will simply just reinstate me as your escort. Twelve didn't have a long list of applicants - just thought you should know."

He didn't.

"So you didn't take this job as a challenge. You had no - oh fuck," Haymitch cursed loudly.

Effie visibly startled at the language.

"Please mind your - Amara!" her eyes widened when she saw Twelve's former escort walking towards them.

"Why the fuck would you do that for?" Haymitch hissed through his teeth. "Now she's seen us."

"Hello, hello!" Amara trilled, waving her feathered fan at them. Once she was closer enough, she kissed Effie on each cheek in greeting, complete with a hug. When she pulled way, she glanced over at Haymitch, looking at him from head to toe as she took in his scruffy appearance. "I see you're still hopeless as ever. Effie, darling, you should never let yourself be seen with him when he's dressed like that. Be firm with him!"

"Run along, then," Haymitch shooed her away, crossing his arms in front of him. "Wouldn't wanna be seen with me now that you've finally  _retired._ How's your old, rich husband doing? Waiting for him to die so you can get all your hands on his money, yeah?"

Effie gasped, taken aback by their acidic exchange. Amara had not been pleasant with him and Haymitch was calloused with her.

"You shouldn't be talking about money when all you know is to waste yours on alcohol," Amara told him off.

Amara then ignored him completely to talk to Effie which made her uncomfortable because to ignore someone and exclude them from a conversation went against her manners.

"I watched last year's Games - your first Games as an escort!" Amara flashed Effie a smile.

 _Forced,_ Haymitch noted and took a stab at her. "You're still as fake as ever. Not only your smile but …" his gaze fell on her chest and then he snickered. "For the old man?"

"What I do is none of your business," Amara huffed at the same time that Effie subtly stomped on his foot with her heel. She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "I see that even with a new escort, Twelve still failed to bring home a Victor."

"Don't concern yourself with what's happening with Twelve," Haymitch shot her down.

"Let's just say it's an occupational hazard," Amara's lips split into a malicious sneer. "How are you doing, Effie? You've been following all that I've thought you, yes? Don't worry, darling, give it a few more years and you will have it all under control... including your unruly victor," she patted Effie's cheek condescendingly.

"I – "

"Although to be fair, you'll soon learn there's nothing much to control. It's the same process year after year. It only changes when you have a victor and we  _all_  know that Twelve's a hopeless district, don't we? I've told you before and I'll tell you again, Effie darling, Twelve gives you nothing to work with. There are no sponsors, the tributes have no potential and you've seen for yourself just how Haymitch is - terribly uncooperative."

"We're working on changing the image," Effie said and Haymitch wondered why she bothered trying to explain herself to Amara unless she was trying to impress the old goat. "Haymitch and I are talking to sponsors and we're -"

"Frankly," Amara went on as if Effie had not spoken a word, "I wasn't at all surprise your two tributes died so early in the Games, not all. They all do. It is almost expected of Twelve, really. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Haymitch clenched his jaws. He had sat through that same insulting speech about him and about his district for nearly nine years until the year before when Effie replaced her. It no longer fazed him. He had learnt to ignore it but from the way Effie was holding herself, he couldn't say the same about her. Amara had a very flippant way of talking about the tributes' deaths the same way she would waved off an Avox's presence.

"Last year was unfortunate, yes, but as I was saying," Effie stressed, "we are working towards a goal as a team."

Haymitch raised an eyebrow in disbelief. This was all new to him. He had not been made aware that they had a goal, much less a team.

"Oh, darling, darling," Amara clutched Effie's arm. "It's a fool's task. Your tributes will die this year just as they had last year. From what I saw during the parade they don't have the make of a Victor. As for working as a team," she turned her beady eyes towards Haymitch, "I wish you the best of luck with that."

With a wave, she was gone, tottering on her heels.

"I don't understand... She was absolutely charming when we met and when she was handing over everything to me at the end of the 59th Games. She seemed different. Has she always been like this to you?"

"She's Capitol, sweetheart. Don't be so fucking naïve. She was only nice to you because she was desperate to find a replacement. You Capitol people are all good at pretending, don't you?"

" _I_  am Capitol, Haymitch. But I'm – "

"Not like them?" he scoffed. His trailed his eyes slowly over her, taking in her extravagant dress with the sequins, the glittering jewellery around her neck, her high heels and the blue wig. "You are like them."

**_2: Right after Katniss and Peeta won  
74_ ** **_th_ ** **_Games (41 years old)_ **

The scent of strong perfume wafted over him and he frowned. It wasn't Effie. He would recognise Effie's perfume. He turned to see who it was and almost wished he didn't.

"Who would have thought you had it in you two bring back a victor much less two," Amara came to a stop in front of him and swirled her glass of champagne.

A look of exasperation and annoyance settled on Haymitch's face. Promptly, he turned his back to her as his eyes swept through the dance floor, making a mental note of where Katniss and Peeta were, and where Effie was. He saw Effie by the dessert table with a plate of chocolate covered strawberries in her hand.

"How did you do it?"

"I work better without you around," he threw the jibe at her.

"Oh, certainly," Amara laughed airily. "It only takes you and Effie working together for about 14 years to bring victory back to Twelve."

"Didn't know you were keeping count. It makes you sound bitter - you miss your old job, huh?"

"Not at all," Amara was quick denied but there was something in her voice that made Haymitch thought that there was more to it.

"What are you doing here, Amara?" Haymitch asked. The irritation was plain to hear in his voice.

"I was invited to the Crowning party, Haymitch. I was a former Games member and considering how I have been a sponsor for several years now, an invitation was personally extended to me"

"Ah, is it? It's got nothing to do with your rich husband?" he snorted.

Amara ignored that which meant he was right. "Now, Haymitch," she said in a sickly sweet tone. "You've been giving a lot of interviews lately."

"My kids won, in case you haven't notice. Suddenly everyone wants to talk to the mentor."

She smiled and stood closer to him "Well, I couldn't help but notice that there was no mention of me at all."

"Why would I talk 'bout you?" he frowned.

"Haymitch, really," she laughed again "I had thought you would at the very least invite me back for an interview or two! You haven't forgotten all about dear old me, have you?"

"Might have," he mumbled.

"Haymitch, Haymitch," she squeezed his hand. "I was an escort for Twelve and I groomed you, didn't I? Look at you!"

"Nah, can't say you have. I don't remember it that way. What I  _do_  remember was you being a downright bitch to me."

The effect was immediate. The smile slid off her face and she glowered.

"If anything," he added, "I must say Effie's been doing a pretty darn good job - "

" _Effie_  isn't any better. Don't pretend you and her are friends, Haymitch. Don't insult me. I remember all too well how much you dislike people like us. I've seen you both on television and you can't seem to get along with her."

"Oh, I got along with her better than I ever did with you. Besides," he lowered his voice and leaned it close to whisper in her ear to deliver the nail in the coffin, "she being closer to my age helps  _a lot_."

The loud gasp sounded like victory in his ears. Haymitch winked and straightened up just as Effie came to join him.

He plucked a strawberry from her plate and popped it in his mouth. Effie didn't even bat an eyelash at him stealing her food. All of this was not lost on Amara who narrowed her eyes at them.

"Amara! What a pleasure to see you," Effie extended her hand.

Haymitch had worked with her long enough to know that was not entirely true. Effie had asked Amara for a sponsorship to send a bottle of water to their tribute one year during the Games. She thought that since they knew each other, it would be better coming from her than from Haymitch. But Amara had laughed at her and insisted that even with a sponsor their tribute would not get far. The girl died from thirst and Effie had never truly forgiven Amara for that.

Their interaction had always been brief from then on.

"Hmm," Amara shook Effie's hand. "Enjoy your moment, darling. This could very well be the  _only_  time you'll get to. I don't foresee Twelve having a repeat of this fame and by extension, you. You're nearly at the end of your line."

Effie's smile never faltered even as they watched her leave.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "What did she want?"

"Snivelling for the a little bit of fame in that old age of hers."

"Ah," Effie nodded. "She must resent me for it."

"And you're enjoying it far too much," Haymitch said.

"After what she did to us, you can't blame me for it. Do you dance?" she asked, looking longingly at the dance floor. "I enjoy dancing, too."

**_3: At the end of the 2_ ** **_nd_ ** **_Rebellion  
Post – War (43 years old)_ **

Haymitch found her outside of her apartment sitting on a bench riddled with bullet holes. She was watching the people passing by.

Without saying a word, he lowered himself next to her. The bench creaked and for a second, he feared it might not hold both of their weight.

"When are you leaving?" she asked him quietly.

"Tomorrow."

Effie nodded.

"What are you doing out here, sweetheart?"

"I can't be inside... It's not the same," she murmured. Haymitch had to strain his ears to catch her words. "My neighbours are different people. My house has been looted. I – I'll need to clean and organise everything. It gives me something to do at least," she gave him a brave smile. "I will get to it soon but I just needed... I just wanted the fresh air."

Capitol citizens shuffled past them in a long row. Most of them had been displaced from their homes and carried with them what remained of their belongings, clutching their bags and luggage close to them in fear of it being snatched away. Rebel soldiers were giving out instructions and directing them to the nearest shelter.

Most paid them no heed, intent of getting to a shelter that could take them in before night fall. But some recognised Haymitch and Effie, and threw them dirty looks. Effie didn't meet their eyes, unable to bear watching people looking at her with such disdain. Haymitch's gaze never wavered. After spending nearly two decades of his life on the receiving end of such looks in his district and in the Capitol with people talking behind his back, he was immune to it all.

"You did this – are you happy now?" spat a man in a navy blue suit which was covered with ash. He wore a matching blue wig which must have been a pretty thing once except it was now limp and dirty. He hurried away when Haymitch leaned forward, pretending that he was about to stand up.

"They're so ungrateful," Effie complained. "They have no idea the things you or Katniss or Peeta had to do, the choices you had to make –"

"Don't go there," he warned. He didn't want to think about the choices that defined them or the losses they suffered, not right now. "They can't see it yet. They don't understand what we were trying to end… What we've ended."

"I understand why you hated us, Haymitch. I look at them and I can see now how you saw us."

Haymitch heaved a breath, his grey eyes darkened.

"For a while, yeah, I did. I hated everything about the Capitol. I was young and I lost … people that mattered to me. I realised later on, so much later that people here are just so fucking ignorant – you came along and confirmed that for me – but by then it was too late. I spent so long hating the Capitol, I don't know how not to hate it."

"But you fought to keep me alive," Effie pointed out.

Haymitch said nothing.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly.

"For what?"

"I - "

"I don't hate you, sweetheart. You're alright; you turned out alright. You helped the kids. I didn't ask that of you but you did. You helped me."

Her blue eyes watered but she didn't let the tears fall. The corner of his lips curled into a smile when Effie reached out to lace her fingers with his.

"I will miss you."

"You sure?" he chuckled. "Because you wouldn't say that if – shit."

Haymitch let out a breath. Effie followed his gaze.

There amongst the crowd of people was Amara Varvari. They had not been spotted yet and it didn't look like she would see them. She was walking barefoot and shivering in the cold but her voice was loud and distinctive. They could hear her arguing with a man as they came closer.

"Still bitchy," Haymitch commented but he had already stood up. "Come on."

"You want to talk to her?" Effie brows wrinkled.

"Amara," he called out, catching her attention.

The woman paused as did the man next to her. It didn't take long for the recognition to flicker in her eyes. The glare she sent his way could have turned lesser men into dust but he was Haymitch, and he stood tall, striding towards her.

"Is this the moment when you rub it in my face, Haymitch, and tell me how the mighty have fallen?" she spat.

"Is that what you want me to say?" Haymitch chuckled. "For the record, I don't think you are  _that_  mighty, so you falling don't interest me much."

She huffed. "If that was what you wanted to say than say it so I can be on my way! The shelters are being occupied at a horrifying rate and I've already been turned down twice!"

They seized each other up and then Haymitch said something that surprised both Effie and Amara.

"You ain't my favourite person, Amara. You think I was beneath you and most of the time, you're a fucking terrible person to me and to others. But you ain't Snow, and you ain't as bad as he is and that's sayin' something, yeah? But I'm glad to see you're alive."

Amara was at a loss for words. She blinked, staring at him in disbelief. The man next to Amara who he assumed was the rich man she had married offered Haymitch a tentative smile.

"Why this war?" she asked, finally. "Why wage this war against us?"

"Not you," Haymitch told her. "It was against Snow, against the Games. The Games had to end, you should know that. They were children.  _I_ was a teenager. Aster was a child. You can see that at least? They killed my family. You know that. You were my escort when it happened. You knew what happened but you pretended not to. It's not entertainment when children are dying, when families are wiped out."

"He told us it was for the good of Panem."

"He told us a lot of things," Effie said. "He blinded us to so many things."

Amara exchanged a look with her husband. There was nothing else to say so Haymitch gave them a nod and walked off, leaving Effie with his former escort.

 


	16. Helping Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by missy-poppins91: I have a prompt for between lives to add the pile please? In CF Peeta offers a donation of his winnings right? If its not to ooc Could we have one where new victor Haymitch tries to spontaneously spread his wealth around his district? beyond the what capitol deem normal celebration(like how dare he by nessities for the seam rather then a new designer outfit the scandel!)

 

**Helping Out  
** **_(16 years old)_ **

His family never had enough but it was different now. There was more than enough. Too much, in fact, that Haymitch had no idea what to do with it. He had not even take into account the steady flow of stipends he would get from the Capitol every month.

"What are you gonna do with it, Mitch?"

He had been thinking about it. His first thought went to his brother. Haymitch glanced down at Lief and ruffled his hair affectionately. His time in the arena was something he would rather forget – it wasn't easy with the nightmares but he could breathe better now that he was home with Lief and Mama – but winning also meant that Lief would live in relative ease because of him. That made the guilt of having survived 47 other children  _slightly_  easier to bear.

"I'm gonna keep half of this for you and mama. You'll always have some money for food and clothes, and you'll never have to be hungry again. I'll get more from the Capitol every month, too. I think I'll give it to mama. She'll know what to do with it better than I do."

Lief's eyes lighted up. He brushed his hand against the glittering gold coins and then he looked at Haymitch thoughtfully, "and mama never has to work again, right? She can't do anymore washing, Mitch. Her back's not good."

"I know," Haymitch nodded. "You don't worry 'bout her. I've got us now, okay?"

His second thought went to the people in the district, especially those in the Seam. He grew up in the Seam so he knew just how harsh the living conditions were. Before he was reaped, two babies died of starvation and after such death, there were usually a frantic urgency for parents to put in extra hours at the mines just for an extra piece of coin to feed their children.

He could help them now. He was the only person who could.

Haymitch did just that. He was young and foolish; driven by his desire to change things now that he thought he could. He wasn't tainted by the sense of despair and hopelessness that would consume him for most of his adult life, not yet and not truly.

He set out to the Seam and gave out some coins to the little children he met along the way. They were too young to refuse – their dignity did not get in their way – but they were old enough to know that money could get them food. Haymitch would give some to their parents but it was a little more difficult dealing with the adults. He didn't think going up to them and handing them some money was going to work. It was a delicate matter and if he did that, they would refuse him. They would not allow him to treat them like charity and if he insisted, he would trample all over their sense of self-respect. People in Twelve were labourers who worked hard and earned their keep, and prided themselves in that. They wouldn't have it any other way so Haymitch had asked Mama if it would be okay for her to hire some women or her friends to clean their house, do their laundry and keep the area around Victor's Village clean. He could pay them, he said.

His mother didn't ask him anymore question but she understood. She could see his intention clear as day on his face.

"Mama? Can you do that?"

She nodded, framed his cheeks and kissed his forehead. "Good man," she whispered. "Your father will be very proud of you."

"You can buy 'em stuffs," Lief suggested from where he was sitting and fiddling with the phone on the wall. They didn't have a phone in their old house. "Just leave it outside their houses. They ain't gonna throw it away, right?"

"Be careful," Iris told him.

Haymitch laughed. "I'm just going to buy things. I'm not gonna get in trouble!"

He took Lief's suggestion.

Haymitch went to the bakery first and bought a basket full of bread. Mr. Mellark was curious, naturally, but he didn't pry because Haymitch gave him business. It was the same with the other shops.

He thought everything was working out perfectly. He was helping the merchants of district Twelve by buying goods from them and he was helping those in the Seam by giving them those goods he bought.

When night had fallen, Haymitch and Lief went to the Seam and left a loaf at each house with a small block of cheese, or a bottle of milk or anything else that could feed them.

For two nights, Haymitch delivered until half of his Capitol winnings were gone and the supplies in District Twelve had dwindled.

"I got nothin' for you, boy. You've got to wait for the next shipment," the grocer growled. "You bought nearly all I have – there's nothing for me to sell."

"When is it coming? When's the next shipment?"

The grocer gave him a long, hard look. He glanced around and when he spoke, it was in a low voice, wary of listening ears.

"You be real careful. What you doing here… It's risky business. You stop now and lay low for a few weeks."

Haymitch frowned. He had never liked it when someone tried to tell him what to do and what not to do.

"What do you mean? I didn't hear you complainin' when I was buyin' things from you. I'm just trying to help – that's all."

"I know, boy, I know," the grocer sighed. "But it's not me that's the problem, is it? The Capitol ain't gonna like it when they get wind of this. We only get supplies at the end of the month and if word gets back to them that we've run out, they're gonna be real curious. They're gonna ask you and they sure as hell ain't gonna like it if they find out that someone's been feeding the district. And they ain't stupid – they'll know it's you. They're not gonna be happy 'bout it."

"Why not?" Haymitch challenged.

"How old do you think I am?"

Haymitch was not expecting the question. It took him a while before he ventured a guess. "I don't know…. Seventy, maybe? You've always been around, kind of like Greasy Sae."

"Sae's younger… So much younger," he chuckled. "Point is, I'm old enough to have seen things, to know things. And what I know is that the Capitol's the only one that can feed us. They  _want_  to be the only one with that kind of power."

"What do you want me to do? Let them all go hungry?" Haymitch argued "We've already lost three to the Games and babies have died."

With nothing much to sell, the grocer dragged an empty crate and sat down on it. He pulled out a small metallic tin containing his tobacco and began rolling up his cigarette. He offered it to Haymitch who shook his head. Mama would skin him.

"You think you're the first person to try and do this? Nah, son, Reggie tried to after he won. You're just like he was. Wanted to help, wanted to do something."

"What did he do?" Haymitch asked with interest. He seldom heard stories about Reggie. He died when Haymitch was young so he never remembered the man.

"He left bags of coins outside his house in Victor's Village for people to take whenever they needed."

Haymitch blinked. He hadn't thought of that.

"Did it work?"

"The Capitol found out. Peacekeepers gave him a warning and we were thought a lesson. The Peacekeepers… They stopped food supplies from other districts from coming in and made working hours in the mines longer. Someone died in the mine that month. Exhaustion and starvation don't go well together."

Haymitch swallowed. He inhaled deeply and stuffed his hands in his pocket. He didn't want the people in the district to suffer.

"So you be careful. They ain't gonna go after you now that you're a victor. You're theirs so they won't touch a hair on you. They'd go for us."

"I'm not theirs. I don't belong to them," Haymitch snapped.

When he went home that afternoon, his head was reeling with the possible consequences he had not considered but Haymitch was stubborn so he tried to work out the problem.

When Aspen came over after school one afternoon, Haymitch a slid a bag filled with money across the table over to his friend.

"I ain't taking your money," Aspen frowned but there was a spark of desire in his eyes. He blinked and it was gone. "I'm not your charity."

"Don't be a snob, Aspen. That'll help put food on your family's table for a while. Besides, you've helped me a lot over the years so…"

"I helped 'cause you're my friend. I can't take that. My mother's gonna ask," Aspen stressed the point. "And you've been leaving bread outside my house."

Haymitch snorted.

"Everyone knows it's me, huh?"

"Who else could it be? People are talkin', Haymitch. They ain't all comfortable with what you're doing."

"Yeah, except they didn't tell me to stop 'cause they know their children are fed. Look, Aspen, you gotta do this now 'cause I can't. The Peacekeepers can't know it's coming from me."

"You want me to take over?"

"Not precisely. You just help where you can. I can give you the money; you can keep some for your family and figure out how to help the others. The delivery thing won't work anymore. You've got any ideas?"

"I can think of something, I guess."

Aspen had always been kind-hearted so it didn't take a lot of convincing for him to help except neither of them expected the Peacekeepers to accuse Aspen of stealing from a Victor. Aspen was nearly sent for whipping for a second time until Haymitch intervened.

"You've only came back a week and you've already gotten me in trouble," Aspen panted, rubbing his wrists where he had been bound.

"The both of you need to stop planning  _anything_  together," Hazelle chided. She was severely out of breath after running to Victor's Village to get Haymitch and running back to the whipping post. "Trouble always comes up when it's the two of you."

"Maybe you should hang around with us more. Toby would like that," Aspen winked. "What happened to the money, Haymitch? The one you gave me?"

"I told the Head he could keep it if he let you walk."

Aspen stared at him and then they both started laughing.

"You're crazy," Aspen cried. "You're goddamn crazy. He took the money?"

"He did. He also gave me a warning," Haymitch told the two of them. "He said the money's mine and I'm only to spend it on somethin' for myself."

The district learnt their lesson enough from what nearly happened to Aspen. They were afraid of the punishment and Haymitch was wary of getting his friend or anyone else in trouble. The silver lining was that, he was still allowed to employ people. It was a short term of employment because once his family was killed, Haymitch fell sideways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was plausible Haymitch that might have tried to do something similar because in Catching Fire, when Peeta gave his winnings away, Haymitch went 'oh shit', I feel like he knows. Also, when Cinna asked if Peeta could do that, he said, "he can't". I chose to interpret it as he knew it because he tried it before and he was told he can't do that unless ofc the victors were briefed at the end of their games before they went home on things they can and cannot do with their winnings.


	17. Meeting Johanna Mason

** Meeting Johanna Mason   
** **_(38 years old)_ **

“She’s scary,” said Finnick.

Haymitch, who had been slouching in his seat, crossed his arms and turned his gaze towards Effie.

“As Finnick put it, she _is_ scary,” Effie nodded in affirmation. “I would also include rude into the list of adjectives to describe her. Her lack of manners could rival yours. She threw a vase at my head – at _my_ head – and all I’ve ever done was to visit her. Can you believe that? I must say, I immensely regret taking up your suggestion to go with Finnick.”

“You must have said something real dumb, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

“I did not,” Effie huffed. “She hates me on sight. She said I’m an escort.”

“You _are_ an escort,” Haymitch deadpanned.

Finnick interrupted and added, “We thought it was a bad time so we said we’ll come back tomorrow. Do you know what she told me? She said if I don’t come back with an axe, she will….,” he trailed off.

“She’ll do what?”

“I didn’t let her finish,” Finnick admitted.

“You didn’t…” Haymitch gave a bark of laughter. It was rare but his eyes lighted up in amusement. “You and Effie ran from the room?”

“If you were there you’d understand,” Effie told him.

“Exactly,” Finnick jumped in. “You should see her for your –“

“Alright,” Chaff strode out of the elevator and into the Penthouse, joining their little group. “The kid’s right. The girl’s one of a kind; her mouth’s a spit fire. Bet you didn’t like her, Trinket. She seems like the kind that’ll drive you up the wall.”

“ _All_ of you drive me up the wall.”

Now Haymitch was curious. Effie tended to overdramatize situations and with Finnick around, those two tended to collaborate and go against him, for reasons he had not figured out yet. Chaff’s words, on the other hand, was something that would hold more weight.

“She’s just scared,” Haymitch said.

“That’s no reason to throw a vase at me!” Effie exclaimed, touching her wig gingerly.

“Got a feeling that _you’re_ gonna like her,” Chaff chuckled, throwing Haymitch a look as he snatched a bottle of whiskey on his way to the sofa. He flopped down and stretched his legs on the coffee table only to have Effie pursed her lips in annoyance. She moved to stand in front of him and glared. Chaff put his legs down. “She nearly gave Mags a second stroke.”

“I don’t see how _that_ is even remotelyfunny,” Finnick snapped at Chaff with a frown. “I talked to a nurse and she’s going to be discharged tomorrow which means, she’ll be back in Seven’s suite. You should go see her.”

“Is it a thing we do now?” Haymitch grumbled. “Visit Victors that isn’t from One and Two?”

“Those are the Victors that need a friend the most.”

It wasn’t Chaff or Finnick with their experience to account for it who said that but Effie, which surprised him.

“It’s just something I observed,” Effie told him.

XxX

Her entire body language told him that she was defensive and aggressive. Her arms were folded in front of her with her fists clenched tight. She watched every move he made as if she was preparing herself for the moment when he would strike and attack.

“You’re Twelve’s mentor, right? What are you doing here? Why do people keep coming to?”

Haymitch ignored the questions and casually sat on the sofa uninvited. He remained quiet and the silence unnerved her which was his purpose.

“Did that stupid blonde boy - Finnick, right? – brought my axe?” she asked. “Do you have it?”

“Do I look like I came bearing gifts?” Haymitch turned his palm upwards for her to see. “Finnick ain’t here. It’s just me, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart or I’ll show you exactly how I won my Games.”

“I’m a mentor, _sweetheart_. I saw how you won your Games. Great cover by the way with being all weak. I applaud that strategy. Sneaky and manipulative, aren’t you?  In other words, you’re clever. And you know what the Capitol does to clever people?”

Johanna only glared at him harder.

“You ain’t that tough, you know. Bet that’s a cover, too. Deep inside, you’re fucking terrified,” Haymitch goaded her before he softened his voice. “I’ve been there, I know.”

“What do you want?”

“To talk,” he said. “You didn’t give Finnick and Effie a chance at all, did you? We have this thing amongst us mentors, not my idea, but we pay a visit to the newest Victors.”

“Why’s that?”

Haymitch leaned back in his seat, a smug grin on his face. “Well, see… Like it or not, we’re gonna be spending _a lot_ of time together. You’re coming back next year as mentor, yeah? Take it from me, kid, you’re going to want to have someone you know when you’re mentoring. It helps keep the pressure off.”

“You’re offering to be my friend?”

“Did I say that?”

“I killed your tribute,” Johanna pointed out. “She was my… She was my first victim. You shouldn’t want to talk to me. I killed her.”

In his mind’s eyes, Haymitch could almost picture Effie wincing from the memory that would evoke if she was here. The Games Headquarters had fell silent when Johanna crept out of her hiding spot, gripping an axe that for the first half of the Games had been uselessly wasted on her and swung it across Twelve’s female tribute.

Haymitch had been furious. He had thrown the phone across the wall as he growled under his breath, “What did I say? The entire fucking thing was fishy. Nobody would publicly expose themselves as being weak especially in the Games.”

Johanna was still watching him, waiting for a reaction to the mention of his dead tribute but Haymitch’s expression remained stoic.

“She would have died anyway. If it wasn’t you, it’d be someone else,” Haymitch admitted.  “You made it quick for her but that’s not a guarantee with another.”

She approached him slowly and sat on the armchair across from him.

“You see her face when you close your eyes?”

Johanna hesitated and then she nodded.  For that brief second, Haymitch saw the vulnerable eighteen years old before her face hardened and she snapped her head up again. The moment was over and he steered the conversation to a territory he – and he supposed her as well - was much more comfortable with, one that did not involve emotions.

“So listen, it could be us – me or Chaff or Finnick, hell even Beetee and Wiress – or you could come back next year and try to figure all the shit out on your own.”

“ _Or_ I could make friends with someone from other districts. What’s so special about you and your group of friends?”

“You could,” he shrugged. “But even outside the arena, One and Two tend to form a pack, and they aren’t the friendliest sort especially with an underdog district who bested their tributes, their districts – that’s you and that’s me. They aren’t bad, not really. Gloss is a good man and Enobaria’s bearable when she’s got something to drink but they’re tight. They’re exclusive.”

Johanna said nothing.

“You could go with Six and Five, sure, but they aren’t all there most of time. Self-medication,” he explained. He paused briefly before he said, “I get it actually - Finnick’s about your age, He’s nineteen, I think – Chaff and I are old and why would you want to spend your time with us, yeah? Hell,” Haymitch chuckled and swept his hair out of his eyes, “I wouldn’t be friends with me either.”

“You’re fucking confusing. You’ve got a damn odd way of making friends with someone. Do you want us to be friends or not?”

“I don’t care much about making friends and I don’t imagine you and I will be one. But we got a group – us, mentors – and I’d thought I’ll extend that to you since you’re a greenhorn. An acquaintance of sorts, you know?”

“Mentors?” she snorted. “Why’s the escort hanging around then? She don’t fit.”

“She’s one of us.”

“She’s Capitol! How can she…” Johanna tilted her head thoughtfully. “You’re screwing her, right? And now she’s hanging on to your every word like some fucking love sick bitch.”

 “Like I said,” Haymitch said through gritted teeth, “you can try to make it on your own.”

“We ain’t gonna sit around and talk about each other’s Games.”

Haymitch snorted.

“That’s the last thing any of us want. We’re all messed up after our Games enough. We don’t need to talk about it,” Haymitch told her. “We all know what it’s like and it ain’t much but it’s something to know there’s someone as fucked up as you are.”

Finnick or Effie could probably have said it better than him but if he concerned himself with such trivialities, he would be as annoying as Effie.

When Johanna said nothing, Haymitch stood up. He would leave the girl to her thoughts.

“You don’t need that, right?” he gestured to the bar cart. He swiped two bottles of bourbon and left. At least his trip down wasn’t wasted.

XxX

“We didn’t think you’d want to be alone tonight!” Effie trilled. “Especially since tomorrow’s a big, _big_ day for you!”

Johanna stood at the doorway to Seven’s suite. Her brown eyes were wide in disbelief as she took in the group standing in front of her. Chaff raised his stump and waved; Johanna gritted her teeth. Finnick grinned at her and her nose flared. Effie waited to be let in, smiling happily. Johanna searched for Haymitch, standing at the back of the group, a reluctant member. He raised a shoulder in a careless shrug.

“Are you ready for your interview tomorrow?” Finnick asked once they have all settled into Seven’s suite. His attempt at small talk fell flat because Johanna kept quiet. So he tried again. “I saw your mentor. He’s running around trying to make sure everything’s okay for you. He’s worried about you being alone so we offered to keep you company.”

“I’d rather be alone,” Johanna sneered.

“Why’s that?” Chaff asked. “So you can brood and worry yourself to death about what’s going to happen at the Crowning Party tomorrow?”

Johanna leveled her gaze with him. “I can do whatever I want when I’m alone.”

Effie shot Haymitch an uncomfortable look. She opened her mouth to apologise for imposing when Johanna pulled the tails of her shirt up and over her head in one fluid motion. The act was so unexpected that nobody told her to stop.

Effie gasped loudly and for the first time, the group heard Johanna laugh.

“If you all insist on hanging around here to babysit me, as if I had invited you or something, then you won’t mind me doing what I’d do if you all hadn’t been around, right?” she taunted, unclasping her bra and letting it fall to the floor.

Haymitch and Chaff was staring at her, both men at a loss for words. Finnick was staring too but unlike Haymitch, he quickly averted his gaze, keeping his eyes firmly on the ceiling. Finnick let out an exasperated sigh.

“The weather in Seven can get fucking hot. I don’t like wearing clothes. I feel freer, you know what I mean?” she gestured at herself.

Effie picked up her shirt and tried to hand it to her but she slapped Effie’s hand away.

Chaff was laughing. “Told you she’s something, didn’t I? She’s got some guts this one.”

“Stop staring,” Effie hissed angrily at Haymitch. “Johanna, dear, _please_ , put on your clothes. This is inappropriate. Preserve your modesty! There are three men in this room.”

Johanna raised an eyebrow and slipped out of her pants to antagonize Effie further. Finnick still wasn’t looking at her.

“What’s the matter, handsome,” Johanna mocked, “do I make you uncomfortable? You’ve never seen a naked girl before?”

“I’ve seen plenty and when I came here offering my friendship, I didn’t expect you to do that,” Finnick told her angrily. The usual wolfish grin and pleasant face was gone as it morphed into one of displeasure. “I can’t go anywhere without someone using their sexuality against me!”

He stomped out of the suite.

“Is he overreacting?” Chaff asked before he nodded to himself. “He’s overreacting. Teenagers,” he rolled his eyes.

 Finnick leaving the suite in that manner was enough to make Johanna falter momentarily.

“What the fuck’s the matter with him?” she asked. “And what did he mean by that sexuality bit?”

Haymitch sighed.

“You do that often?” Chaff asked out of curiousity. “I get it if you walk around at home naked in front of your family but do you strip naked in front of strangers often?”

“Only if I don’t want them around,” Johanna retorted and Haymitch knew that answer wasn’t the truth.

“We apologise,” Effie said hastily, pulling Chaff and Haymitch up. “We should leave. We will… We’ll leave you be.”

“Why is he so mad?” Johanna pressed for an answer.

“Maybe someday, Finnick will tell you the reason himself.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johanna's about eighteen when she won her Games so to me, at that age, she would already have some of the personality we've known her to have but with a a little more vulnerability and little less anger because her family hasn't been killed yet.
> 
> I really, really, hope you like this chapter. Please drop a review and let me know!


	18. Meeting Annie Cresta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by captainhadeslover: I really love the Between Lives fanfics. They are amazing. Could you do one where Haymitch meets Annie? That would be really cool.

 

**Meeting Annie Cresta**  
**_(37 years old)_ **

The electronic tablet on her lap beeped once. Whatever it was, it made Effie scoot to the front of her seat, tapped the small glass window separating the driver from the passengers so that she could give him her address and instruct that they be driven there.

"And uh, why are we going to your apartment?" Haymitch turned his head slowly towards her, blinking lazily.

"It's Finnick, he's over at my place," she told him which only gave rise to more questions.

His head was buzzing with the effect of the alcohol but he was certain he had heard her right. His brows crinkled in confusion before his eyes darken. "I thought I was the  _only_  victor you would invite over. What changed, sweetheart?" he chuckled.

Haymitch leaned forward, pushing her hair away from her shoulder with his nose and grazed the side of her neck with his teeth. It wasn't gentle and Effie hissed at the slight pain it caused.

She pushed him away. "Don't be jealous. It's unbecoming."

His only response was to tighten his hold on her wrist.

"This is Finnick we're talking about," Effie scowled.

It infuriated her to have to reason with him when he was in this state; half-drunk and fuelled with a tinge of jealousy. It had happened more often than not lately and she didn't want to think what this possessiveness might mean – for her and for them.

"You took him under your wing – he's one of yours – and I wouldn't betray you like that," Effie told him. "Besides, Finnick doesn't need me to want him that way… The way  _you_  want me," she added, pushing the boundaries a little bit further just to see how he would react.

Haymitch frowned and leaned back away from her. He stared out of the window, neither confirming nor denying her statement. He hated the feeling of wanting her and lately, each time he returned to the Capitol, he was finding it difficult to control the want. It was dangerously close to crossing the fine line into him  _needing_  her. He didn't need that. He had carved a life alone and he was fine being on his own.

When they arrived, Effie trotted ahead, leaving him behind to brood on his own. Haymitch shook his flask and sighed when it turned out empty. Her apartment would have alcohol. That thought lifted up his spirit a little and he hurried after her out of the lift.

Finnick was waiting outside the door to her apartment. He wasn't alone. He had his arm around a trembling Annie Cresta – Finnick's tribute, now a victor – and was trying to hold her upright.

"Is she okay?" Effie asked looking at each of them for an explanation.

Annie had spent a long time in the hospital, recovering. Effie and Haymitch had not been allowed to visit due to the delicate nature of injuries but Finnick told them that she had a difficult time trying to grasp reality. There were rumours that she had gone mad but the Gamemakers were swift to crush it. They needed their Victor and they pushed the doctors to fix her even though Chaff, brimming with anger on behalf of Finnick, had tried to explain that it was not something that could easily be fixed.

"I had to get her out of there," Finnick explained. "They were crowding her, wanting to talk to her and take photographs with her. I had to do something. She was -"

"Losing it?" Haymitch asked.

His eyes slid to the seventeen years' old Victor. She was petite and she seemed fragile standing next to Finnick.

"Hey, Annie," Haymitch stooped slightly to look her in the eyes.

"Hello, Haymitch," she rasped.

"Oh, she knows who I am," Haymitch pointed out and grinned at her. "That's a good sign. What's the matter, kid? What's in your head?"

"Stop it," Finnick snapped.

He shot Haymitch a look. Effie shifted, ready to step in again in case they flare up. It wouldn't have been an isolated incident since the 70th Games started.

When Finnick had begun pulling every string he could to manipulate the Games and get Annie out of the arena alive, Haymitch had made his displeasure known. For Finnick to do what he had done, inconsequential of the fact if he had succeeded or not, it would mean that he now owed important and powerful people a lot of favours. The kind of repayment they would demand was what made Haymitch pulled him aside, demanding that he think it through only to have Finnick threw it in his face.

"You haven't cared about anyone in a long time. You don't know what it is like," Finnick spat, arguing with him. "You live for yourself but I  _don't._  I know her. I  _know_  her."

"You're doing this because you think it's your fault," Haymitch retorted

"It is  _my_  fault!" Finnick had raised his voice but as quickly as the anger came, it left him. He looked defeated when he repeated, "it is my fault, Haymitch."

Haymitch was fully aware of what had happened, of course. Finnick had refused one of Snow's favoured Minister but short of killing Mags to teach him a lesson and risk losing control of his most valuable victor, Snow had rigged the Reaping. There was only one name in the female tributes' bowl. Annie was important to Mags which by extension meant that she was also important to Finnick. When Mags had her stroke and was partially paralysed, Annie had cared for her. She assisted, cared and looked after Mags' every need. She was there each time Finnick had to leave Mags alone when he was called away to the Capitol. It was well known that Finnick was brought up by Mags so to have her carer thrown into the Games was enough of a warning to Finnick.

"I'm sorry, Effie, for ruining your night," Finnick's eyes darted between her and Haymitch. "But your apartment was the nearest and I thought…"

"Have this conversation inside," Haymitch ordered and gestured for Effie to let them all in.

Finnick led Annie to the sofa and sat next to her. He held her hand, rubbed soothing circles on her back and spoke to her in a low voice. Haymitch watched them, intrigued.

Whatever Finnick was doing, it seemed to work. Annie was a lot calmer now than she was just moments ago.

"She okay?" Haymitch asked.

Annie lifted her head to give Haymitch a hesitant smile.

"Mags and Finnick told me about you," she said. "You… You play chess with Finnick… He tried to teach me back at Four but – "

"But he's rubbish at chess," Haymitch smirked.

"Have you two been friends for long?" Effie asked, coming out of the kitchen refreshments. "He hardly talked about you! We only knew about you from Mags."

"My, my sweetheart, don't pry," Haymitch teased.

Annie smiled shyly. "I've never spoken to Finnick before until Mags fell sick and I was… I was often at her house."

The soft clinking and rattling of the saucers as Effie poured tea and served it to them made Annie's green eyes widened in fear. She fidgeted and jumped at each sound. She was gripping tight the edges of the cushion.

"Finnick," Haymitch called out. The boy tried to pry the cushion from her grip but she wouldn't let go. "She's not going to last here. You have to take her back home the first chance you can."

"I would have taken her home to Mags right after she was extracted from the arena if I could but she needed to stay for the Crowning," Finnick answered. "I need your help, Haymitch."

"What?"

"I - I have an appointment tonight… I did try to put it off. I told them I'm the mentor and I need to attend the Crowning with Annie. That's today and once it's over, I have no excuse. I can't make Annie stay here in Effie's apartment. There'll be a search party. So, will you … Will you please take her back at the Games Centre and keep her company. She shouldn't be alone. I should be back by tomorrow morning."

"You want  _me_  to stay with her till you're back?" Haymitch asked him incredulously.

He threw Annie a sceptical glance. Annie needed someone other than him, someone who could do a better job and the boy was out of his mind to be asking this from him, knowing his penchant of getting drunk.

XxX

Without Finnick around, Annie withdrew into herself and grew quiet. Effie tried to engage her in small talks but it was fruitless so they settled into an uncomfortable silence in the car.

The Games Centre was crowded with fans awaiting the arrival of the newest victor. When they emerged, the crowd went wild. Annie stood rooted to the spot, startled and unable to act until Effie gently nudged her forward.

They didn't get far before their path was blocked by two Peacekeepers. They addressed Annie directly. "You couldn't be located at the Crowning party. Where were you?"

Annie whimpered. Her eyes darted all around her. Her shoulders drooped slightly as she raised her hands to cover her ears, rocking on the balls of her feet. Effie seemed a little uncertain as to what she should do. Haymitch stepped in front of Annie, shielding her from the Peacekeepers, and partially blocking the paparazzi's view of her.

"We took her out to get some fresh air. You know how suffocating Crowning parties can be, yeah? Showed her around the city – all the good places, the bars and all. She's a Victor now, right? Gotta show her new home," Haymitch winked.

He felt someone reached out and bunched the back of his shirt together.  _Annie_ , his brain supplied the answer. Effie would never do that, especially in public. He needed to get Annie inside, away from these people. If she had a complete meltdown here in public, the media would swoop on it like vultures.

Acting purely on instinct and on the urgency to take Annie away someplace safe, Haymitch reached back. His arm was around the shaking girl, holding her to him.

"Look Annie, I'm gonna get you inside but we got to get through this crowd of people. Don't look at them or their cameras if you don't want to."

"Let's go, Haymitch," Effie gestured when the Peacekeepers parted the crowd to let them through.

Annie did as she was told. She pressed her face on Haymitch's shoulder and clutched on to him desperately. He led her inside the Games Centre and up to Four's suite.

She asked for Finnick once before spending hours just staring ahead blankly. It occurred to Haymitch that she might not even be with them. Annie didn't respond to any of them calling her name. Effie tried desperately to reach out to her before she admitted defeat and tried to do something to busy herself.

In the end, with a bottle in hand, Haymitch was the one who sat next to Annie. He said nothing to her. He just sat quietly with her, occasionally gulping from his bottle, and kept her company. When Finnick walked in a few hours later in the morning, she barely blinked but she rose to leave for the train station when he whispered in her ear.

With Annie safely in the train and gone from the Capitol, Haymitch thought that was the end of the 70th Games. He would see her again during her Tour and then wait the six months before Effie came along for the next Reaping. Another year, another messed up Victor.

None of them expected a torrent of media speculations on the nature of relationship shared between Annie and Haymitch. There was a picture of him with his arm around her plastered on the front page newspaper the next day. Haymitch exploded at the implication that he would take advantage of a teenager the way the papers had insinuated. In his rage, he threw a full bottle of whiskey he would never have wasted otherwise. Effie snapped at him for making a mess and Finnick promised they would think of something to deal with it.

He returned to Twelve with the mess still hanging over his head. Effie spent the next month dealing with the media but it soon died down when Finnick was spotted with the daughter of a senior Gamemaker and Chaff, while drunk,  _accidentally_  blurted out that Finnick was looking to settle down.

While that was going on in the Capitol, in his house in District Twelve, Mags had called him one day. Annie was oblivious to everything that was happening in the city which was good for her well-being and recovery.

"How is she?" Haymitch asked.

"There are good days and there are bad days. You know how it is."

Haymitch exhaled, pressing the receiver to his ear. "She can't come back to mentor the tributes, Mags. I've seen her and she won't make it. She ain't like us. It'll break her."

"She's already broken," Mags sighed. "My poor girl... My poor, poor girl."

"You can't come back either - you got to rest," Haymitch pointed out. "You ain't the person you were when I was 16. You're getting old."

Mags came back the next year to mentor. She told him she wanted to prove him wrong. She might be old but it didn't make her any less useful. Haymitch rolled his eyes at her but neither Haymitch or Finnick addressed the real reason why Mags returned. This wouldn't be the only time Mags stepped up in place of Annie.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finnick is a bit more angry than we've ever seen him because he's under stress, he feels guilty and at nineteen, i think people are much more easily angered at that age. I've always had my own headcanon/background of how Finnick and Annie knew each other, and how they fell in love but since I've never attempted to write an odesta fic, I never had the chance to explore it until now. So I'm glad for this tiny bit of opportunity. I don't think Haymitch interacted much with Annie (or at all) in the books/movie (did he? I can't remember) so I hope his interaction with Annie here was okay. :/
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think.


	19. Dealing With Johanna Mason

**Dealing with Johanna Mason**

**_(39 years old)_ **

The City lights twinkled down below in the distance and stretched as far as the eyes could see. Even at night, the Capitol beamed bright. It was unnatural and Haymitch disliked it. He missed the darkness in Twelve when the sun had set; the dirt pathway lit up only by dull glowing street lamps.

Most of their tributes were unsettled by it and Effie would usually send them to bed before they could begin to compare the Capitol to their district too much and start to miss home. She had done the same a few hours ago.

The Penthouse was quite except for the sound of Effie's pen scratching against the paper she was working on, drafting the schedule for tomorrow. In the living room, Finnick was hunched over the coffee table, staring intently at the chessboard as Haymitch continued to goad him into making a wrong move. Chaff was slumped next to Haymitch, cradling a bottle of whiskey to his chest.

Before Finnick, Chaff seldom spent his time at the Penthouse just to avoid being in close proximity with Effie so Haymitch and Chaff was often at random bars but ever since Finnick became a part of their group, the Penthouse became a place they would go to. Finnick would rather spend his downtime indoors, away from the public and the media. He loathed the attention and behind closed doors, he was free to be himself and drop his mask. Haymitch understood it so after sometime, he stopped asking Finnick about the frequent visits to the Penthouse.

"Make your move," Finnick told him.

Haymitch was about to move his bishop when he heard the whirring of the elevator. He tilted his head to the side, listening. "Are we expecting more company?"

Just then, the elevator doors slid open and with that, the peace and quiet in the Penthouse shattered.

Johanna Mason strode inside with her fists clenched at her sides, teeth gritted together as she glared daggers at everyone in the room especially Finnick. The three men tensed suddenly, sensing the trouble brewing. Effie pushed her chair back.

"You could have told me," she hissed and the sharpness in her voice made Haymitch rose to his feet. "You could have warned me!"

"What are you talking about?" Finnick frowned, looking at Chaff and Haymitch for a hint.

None of them was prepared for the attack. Johanna lunged at Finnick, her hands closing around his throat causing him to stumble back. She took advantage of it and pressed her weight down on him.

"Do something!" Effie shrieked, running towards Finnick but she was wise enough to maintain her distance. "Haymitch, please! Chaff!"

Finnick fought back. He swung his hand and it connected with her sides. There was a terrible tousle in the middle of the living room with each of them trying to get the upper hand.

After they met her last year at the end of her Games, Johanna had never truly accepted their hand of friendship but neither did she make an effort to make friends with any other victors from the other districts. When the 72nd Games rolled around and when Haymitch saw her again before the start of the Tributes' Parade that evening, she had given him a curt nod but kept to herself, only talking to her stylist and the tributes she had to mentor until now.

The coffee table rattled and if the situation wasn't so dire, Haymitch would have laughed at the sight of Effie in her heels hurriedly pulling the coffee table out of the way, afraid that they might smash the glass. She nearly stumbled from the effort if it wasn't for Chaff who gripped her arm and held her steady.

Having two young, strong victors in a physical fight with each other was a terrible thing. They were both survivors and none of them looked like they were prepared to give up. Johanna had just elbowed Finnick in his chest. As he fell to the floor, he grabbed her leg and yanked it hard.

Haymitch acted first. He wrapped his arms around Johanna's torso from behind and pulled her away from Finnick. She kicked and screamed until Haymitch clamped his hand over her mouth.

"Shut the fuck up," he growled into her ear. "You'll wake my tributes."

Chaff pushed Finnick back towards Effie and planted himself between Finnick and Johanna. He gave the girl a long hard stare and Johanna jutted her chin out defiantly.

"You ain't mad at him," Chaff pointed out. "I can tell 'cause you weren't trying to kill him."

"Would you rather she did?" Effie demanded. Her voice had taken on a sharp pitch, a sign that she was distress.

Chaff laughed, finding amusement in a situation none of them found hilarious. "Didn't you see the way they were fighting, Trinket? Nah, she's mad alright, but not at him. She's just taking it out on him. All that anger gotta go someplace, right?"

"She's got her hands around my throat," Finnick argued, gesturing wildly.

"That's going to bruise," Effie pulled his collar to check. "Come with me. I'll take you down to the clinic."

"You stay right there, sunshine," Chaff growled. "There's got to be a story to this. I want to hear it from the girl."

"Don't call me a girl," Johanna spat and tried to kick Chaff's shin but Haymitch was still holding on to her.

"Chaff's right, sweetheart, you can't take Finnick down to the Clinic. They're going to ask and this one," he rapped Johanna's head, "is going to get in trouble. Now, stop fucking moving, kid."

"Fuck you," Johanna elbowed him like she had done with Finnick.

Exasperated, Haymitch swung Johanna away from him and she fell, face buried on the sofa. She didn't move and she made no attempt to get up. For a second, Haymitch entertained an irrational thought that he had misjudged his own strength and had killed her. He approached Johanna slowly and that was when they all heard a strangled sob escaped from her.

They glanced at each other; their expression a myriad of confusion and surprise.

"Hey..." Finnick approached Johanna cautiously. He reached out to touch her shoulder but she shrugged it off, pushing herself up.

The muscles in her face were taut and tensed, and if she was embarrassed that they had caught her in a moment of weakness, they couldn't tell because she was back glaring at Finnick.

"Those people are not your lovers," she said and then she sneered, "how many people did you have to sleep with?"

Finnick blinked and clenched his jaws. Effie gasped at Johanna's audacity to ask such a personal question but for Haymitch and Chaff, the pieces fell together and everything made sense.

"I have a string of lovers, Johanna. You should read the papers sometimes," Finnick grinned.

"That's 'cause you let them sell you," she accused. "Drop the act, Finnick. They're selling you and you're letting them. You let them use you like you're a thing they can own and discard."

"They asked you, too," Finnick stated. It wasn't a question. Neither of them broke their gaze until finally, Finnick sighed. He sank onto the sofa next to her, head hung low. "I can't say no."

"What happened when you said no?"

Haymitch threw Johanna a sharp look. The way her question was phrased set off alarm bells in Haymitch's head. It was as if she knew nothing good will come out should anyone refused the Capitol and was fishing for confirmation from Finnick while holding on to her side of the story.

_Had the girl answered to Snow?_

Haymitch glanced over at Chaff but he had taken a seat on the armchair and was watching the scene unfold, completely ignoring him.

"What happened when I said no?" Finnick chuckled, a bemused smile on playing on his lips. "You know Mags, right? You met her... You asked once why she couldn't talk properly and why she mumbled. You were rude by the way," he pointed out. "When I said no, they stopped -"

Haymitch gestured at Effie to switch on the television and turn on the volume in order to drown their voices.

"- Mags from getting her medications. She had a stroke. I got the message loud and clear so I gave in but I got sick of it. I got sick of everything. I wanted to have control. I thought if I could control some aspect of it, it would be bearable. I wasn't very smart," Finnick let out a breath. "I began to pick and choose who should spend time with me, who could buy me. I refused the wrong person that one time."

"And?" Johanna pressed for answers.

"They threw Annie into the Games."

"That's the girl that went mad?"

"She's not mad," his eyes flashed dangerously.

"So they threatened you but they didn't kill anyone..."

"What did you do, Johanna?" Effie stared at her, hands covering her mouth.

"I told them to go fuck themselves," she grinned but her brown eyes had grown dim. "They can use their hands - they don't need me for that," she attempted a snide joke and made an obscene gesture but it fell flat.

Johanna wasn't good at masking her sadness or her emotions that well yet. They could still read her.

"Well, shit," Haymitch let out a breath, running his hand through his hair. He sat on the coffee table Effie had tried to drag away earlier. "They're not gonna like that."

"They didn't," Johanna laughed bitterly. Her face crumpled when she said, "My family was in a tractor to one of the sites this morning to go to work. The trees fell on them. They were crushed to death. My entire family gone - my grandmother, my two little sisters and my dad - all gone in a blink. The mayor called this morning to tell me."

"I'm so... I'm so sorry," Effie said, reaching out to give comfort but Johanna pulled her hand away and glared at her.

"Don't touch me," she spat. "The Capitol killed them. I'm not fucking stupid - it wasn't an accident. The timings are too -"

Johanna broke off and inhaled sharply. When she spoke next, the anger was back in her voice.

"None of you thought to tell me that the Capitol is selling Victors. I was summoned to the President's office the moment I stepped into the Capitol yesterday and now my family's fucking dead. You said something about being acquaintance," she turned towards Haymitch, "when you met me last year and you can't even fucking tell me that - "

"We didn't know if they would with you. The Capitol pick and choose who to sell," Haymitch explained. "Finnick was a given - he's popular - but you... You weren't exactly a crowd favourite, Jo. You didn't appeal to the crowd at the start of your Games - weak and sick - so you didn't have a fanbase. By the end of your Games, well, let's be honest, you did nothin' to reach out and please people with that glare and long faces you pull during your interviews."

"Why should I? I hate them," Johanna said angrily. "Didn't they ask you?"

Instead of answering her, Haymitch reached out for the bottle of whiskey on the table and took a swig from it. It was an easy enough question to answer but whatever his answer would be, he was certain Johanna would have more questions to it and it was the answer to those questions that he wasn't sure he wanted to give.

"They didn't," he said.

"Yeah? Why not? Can't say you're bad looking," she trailed his eyes over him.

Chaff chuckled but Johanna was already looking at him with a contemplative expression.

"Ah is it because they haven't got anyone to threaten you with, like Finnick? Or maybe, they haven't got anyone to kill? What is it?" Johanna asked without any due regard that her questions might be sensitive to some people or improper.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. Chaff and Effie already knew his story. Finnick would have known too, from Mags. He didn't see a reason to keep it to himself.

"They already killed everyone I cared about," he told her straight. "My family's life in exchange for the stunt I pulled in the arena. They had no more leverage against me. They can't make me do their bidding. They can't make  _you_  do their bidding."

Johanna nodded. "You?" she addressed the question to Chaff.

Chaff's answer was to raise his stump.

"Capitol could give me a new hand with all their advance medical technologies but I said no and you know why?" he grinned. "'Ain't nobody's gonna be interested in me 's long as I remain a cripple. Smart, no?"

"If you had told me this like last year, I could have chop off a leg or something," Johanna muttered darkly. "Too late now. My leg won't bring my family back."

Chaff handed her a drink. "Look, kid, it's tough. Being a victor ain't all the shine they made it out to be but you're still alive so you don't let them see you break. You  _never_  let them see you break," Chaff said. "Nobody outside the Games will understand; not the ones in your own district and not the ones in the Capitol."

"But we do," Finnick added earnestly. He gestured at Haymitch and Chaff, " _they_  understand. They've helped me a lot."

Johanna didn't reply him. Instead, she turned towards Effie, the only one among them from the Capitol. Johanna didn't address Effie directly when she asked "And her? Don't tell me she understands - look at her."

Haymitch didn't answer. There was no point to it. Johanna wouldn't listen to him if it had come from him.

"She's alright," Chaff shrugged.

"Do you buy victors, too, to fill your time when the Games aren't on?" she directed the question at Effie.

Effie's mask slipped, startled at Johanna's question. He noticed but the others didn't.

"No," Effie told her.

"Maybe not now but what 'bout when you were younger? I bet it's crossed your mind," Johanna sneered.

"That's not fair," Effie said quietly.

"Yeah, my family being killed because I didn't want to be the Capitol's whore was  _very_  fair."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johanna is a force. I love her. Don't you?


	20. Meeting Lief Abernathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by missy-poppins91: Between Lives prompt: The first time(s) Haymitch held a baby. First his brother (then any others)? :)

 

** Meeting  Lief Abernathy **

**(9 years old)**

The first time Haymitch Abernathy ever held a baby, he was nine years old.

His father was working in the mines when Mama complained of pains and cramps. Haymitch had been told by his parents, by dad especially, time and time again what he should do if his mother went into labour. He didn't know if it was labour pains but Haymitch was terrified listening to his mother's painful moans and groans so he did as his father had taught him.

Haymitch ran to the Everdeen's.

By the time he reached Aspen's house, he was severely out of breath and pale as a ghost. Aspen's mother sent both boys into town to fetch the midwife while she hurried over to keep Haymitch's mother company.

At that age, Haymitch had that misconception that once the midwife arrived, it would all be over very quickly but he was so very wrong. Haymitch spent hours, agonising hours waiting. He waited for his father to come home, for his mother to stop screaming and for the cries of a child but nothing was forthcoming. He grew restless and listless and he pulled a long face, his nerves fraught with worry.

Aspen tried to play various games with him to keep him occupy. He tried hopscotch, he tried to play tag and he even tried to get Haymitch to send his spider into battles but he refused them all. Instead, Haymitch made Aspen lift him around his legs high enough for him to peer into the window, looking for his mother.

"Out, out," Aspen's mother shooed him away.

"Is Mama okay?" he tried asking.

"She will be. Now, wait quietly, Haymitch. Play with Aspen. I will get you once it's over. Don't you worry, boy."

He lost track of time but when he was let in, his house was different. Haymitch heard the piercing cries before he saw his brother. He entered the room cautiously. His mother was on her back, clearly exhausted from her ordeal but there was a smile on her face.

"Come, Haymitch, come closer," Mama beckoned.

Once he was close enough, Haymitch eyed the bundle in her arms warily. The baby was noisy and Haymitch wasn't sure if he would like all that noise but that worry vanished when his mother shifted the cloth hiding his brother's face from his view and Haymitch saw his brother for the first time.

"He's small," he remarked in a whisper.

"For now – he'll grow in a blink, just like you did. Sit next to me, Haymitch," Isla Abernathy patted the mattress and Haymitch complied. "Do you want to hold him?"

"Can I?" he looked up, eager and anxious.

It was Aspen's mother who arranged and righted his arms at an angle so his mother could place the baby comfortably. Once in Haymitch's arm, the baby stopped crying and he marveled at that oddity. Haymitch sat stiff and unmoving, worried that a single jolt could hurt the little kid he was holding and he didn't want his brother to cry anymore.

He gazed down at his brother, taking in the wrinkled skin and light tuft of dark hair. He wanted to touch his brother's nose and his cheeks and play with his fingers but it might wake his brother so he refrained from doing so. For a long time, he sat quietly on the bed, not once taking his eyes off the baby whose own eyes remained shut as his chest rose and fell with every breath he took. Haymitch matched his own breathing with his brother and when they were both in tandem, he grinned.

"What do you think, Haymitch?"

"I like him a lot," Haymitch said, his expression serious. "But he's really light, Mama. Like a leaf. I'm scared the wind will blow him away."

His mother laughed lightly and reached up to brush his hair back.

"Then you musn't ever let him go," she clutched his hand. "Promise me, you'll always look out for your brother and that you will always love him."

"I will," he promised. "I love him already."

"Lief... Let's call him Lief. Do you think your father will like that name?"

Haymitch shrugged.

"Hello, Lief. I'm Haymitch," he whispered it quietly, his breath warm against his brother's skin. The child shifted in his arm and Haymitch held his breath only to release it when Lief opened his eyes to look at his brother for the very first time.


	21. Dealing With Loneliness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by towmondlerliveson: Could you write about Haymitch being in Twelve and suddenly missing Effie's cheerfulness and her constant talking because he feels really lonely for "Between Lives"? And maybe you could add an awkward phone call to the mix. ;) Thank you! :-*

 

**Dealing with Loneliness  
** _(30 years old)_

His liquor had run dry that morning which would explain the reason Haymitch was pacing his house like a mad man.

When he drank, he shut everyone and everything out, and he was only starting to realise just how quiet the house was, how alone and lonely he felt now that he was painfully sober. It was the same dreadful feeling months after his family's death and he had no one around him.

He hated this feeling. It was why he drank.

Haymitch continued wearing the carpet out, pacing like a caged tiger.

The loneliness cloaked him like a blanket, eating away at him like lice on skin. Haymitch peered out of the window and perhaps it was just his rotten luck. He saw Aspen walking down the street with his daughter sitting on his shoulder, little fingers gripping her father's hair. He was whistling a tune that was so achingly familiar to him.

 _Throw your arms around me, give my heart ease,_  
Give my heart ease, dear, give my heart ease,  
Throw your arms around me, give my heart ease.

 _Down In the Valley,_ he remembered. It was a song they used to sing as kids.

Haymitch shut his eyes, picturing the two ten year old boys with their arms around each other's shoulder, skipping through the district, singing. He saw young Hazelle with a finger in each ear, cringing at their voices but smiling at her friends still.

He could open that window and call out to Aspen. He could invite him in and they could… He sighed, his breath fogging the window. He didn't know what they could do or what they could talk about. Haymitch hadn't spoken to him since he stormed out of the Everdeen's house after Aspen tried to get him to make that promise.

They weren't friends anymore. Not by a long shot.

His only reliable companion it would seem was this biting loneliness.

Haymitch drew back from the window and slumped on his armchair. He kicked the empty bottle away, the sight of it empty and useless offended him.

It was the quiet, he thought, that made everything so unbearable. His thoughts tend to wander when it was quiet and he didn't want to think. Haymitch shuffled over to switch on the television but he was quick to turn it off when he saw that it was the re-run of the 63rd Victory Tour.

For once in his life, he wouldn't mind Trinket's voice. Her chatter could fill the silence and chase away the void. Amazingly, she never ran out of things to talk about. There was the latest fashion, the newest shoe designs, the people the Head Gamemaker was rumoured to be sleeping with. He didn't care in the slightest about any of those – most of what came out of her mouth was white noise to him - but as long as she was talking, he didn't have to.

There were times when she talked about things that mattered but he didn't want to hear it much either. It could get her in trouble. Then there was her nagging which most of the time, was for his own well-being. He found those to be very strange because she had no reason at all to bother herself with him. " _Don't drink too much, Haymitch. Don't forget to eat, don't neglect your hygiene."_

He didn't mind her talking. It gave him a reason to stare. He should be disgusted with himself, leering at her the way he knew he sometimes did. Effie accused him of ogling at her often enough, anyway.

Haymitch wondered if she was as vocal and loud in bed as she was out of it. He imagined the kind of noises she would make, if she would scream his name, if her voice would be as high pitched when make her come and if her moans were as loud as –

His thoughts came to an abrupt, screeching halt. Haymitch made a noise at the back of his throat. He didn't know since when he began to think of her sexually in that manner but it unsettled him. He shouldn't be wanting her that way… or in any way at all.

Still, Effie Trinket had her uses.

He was in front of his phone before he knew it, rummaging through the junk in his drawer before he found a crumpled piece of paper that she had given him at the end of her first year working for him.

Haymitch dialled her number and waited.

It would be late in the afternoon in the Capitol. She might be out, he reasoned.

"Hello! Effie Trinket speaking, who might that be?"

Haymitch wrinkled his nose. Even over the phone she sounded obnoxiously cheerful.

"Trinket."

He heard the gasp.

"Haymitch! What a surprise! How are – Is everything okay? Are you calling me because you're hurt?"

"No," he snorted. "Listen – need a favour."

"Oh," she released a breath. "I should have known you will only call me when you are in need of something. I am fine, too, thank you for asking."

"Great," he dismissed her sarcasm and went straight to business. "How long will it take you to send me some alcohol? Ripper's ran out and I'm dry. Can't go on much longer – the shakes, withdrawal, you know? Send me the good stuffs, sweetheart, you know what I like yeah?"

"Haymitch… Maybe, it's better if – "

"I _need_ it. I've resorted to distilling some vegetables and I ain't sure how long that's gonna take or how strong it'll be. So you be good or I'll fire you."

"Very well," she conceded even though he knew that she knew it was an empty threat. He had used it far too many times for it to have any effect. "Water it down though, please. I won't have to keeling over and die. This isn't good at all, Haymitch. You shouldn't be so dependent on -"

He cut her off before she could lecture him further. "Fast as you can, okay?"

Haymitch hung up.

The phone rang immediately after. It was her. There was nobody else. He could pick it up. He could listen to her voice instead of the oppressive silence but he didn't. The only thing he was desperate for was alcohol not some company. He didn't want to be that lonely man hanging on to her every word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote in the Aspen + Katniss bit to highlight just how lonely it must be for Haymitch before Katniss and Peeta came along, and how different his life could be. Aspen's life could be his life Instead, he's dealing with life with the help of alcohol and his escort who he might or might even be friends with.
> 
> I have a lot of Haymitch feels


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by TeamToast: THIS WAS AMAZING! Can you hv another chapter of katniss meeting haymitch before the games but her father is like dead. Ik asking too much but
> 
> So this prompt got out of hand and sad, and makes Haymitch feel even more alone. My poor bab

 

* * *

**Goodbye, Old Friends**

_(35 years old)_

The loud explosion blasted through the district that even Haymitch sequestered in Victor's Village heard it. He thought it was something from his dream, a nightmare, but his dreams had never featured any sort of explosion before. It was always his family haunting him and calling out to him to save them. It was always the tributes that he killed in the arena and the tributes that he let die coming to him for blood. Never an explosion.

It jolted him awake on that cold, windy afternoon. The sound of that explosion was terrifyingly familiar, like something he once heard from his childhood followed by horror stories of charred, mangled bodies and injuries that left people crippled. Haymitch shuffled to the window, wrapping the blanket around his torso and peered into the distance.

Thick, black smoke rose from the coal mine. His suspicion was correct.

Even with the haze of alcohol clouding his mind, Haymitch was aware of two things; there were people working in those mines and among those people were Aspen Everdeen and Toby Hawthorne. The second realisation chilled him to the bones.

Haymitch dropped his blanket and stumbled around the living room, grabbing discarded pants and shirt. He emerged from his house, joining the people rushing towards the mines.

By the time he arrived, there was already a crowd outside. He heard the howl of terrified family members and witnessed the horror as the crowds tried to push past the area that been cordoned off by Peacekeepers trying to get to the mines. Family members collapsed against each other some wailing and crying, others in stunned, terrified silence as they waited for news.

He staggered through the crowd until he saw someone familiar.

"Nolan," he called out, grabbing the Mayor's shoulder to turn him around. "Explosion?"

Nolan Undersee seemed surprised to see him but it passed. "Yes," he nodded gravely, looking around at his people. "We're… We can't send help down into the mines, Mitch," he admitted the truth quietly, his tone full of despair. "It's dangerous to risk any more lives. The tunnels – "

"Any survivors yet?"

"No one's come up yet. It's been five minutes since the explosion I'm sure -"

"Aspen and Toby… Are they in there?" Haymitch demanded. "Are they in there?"

"I checked the roster. It's their shift. They're in there, both of them."

"Fuck," Haymitch ran a hand through his knotted hair. "Fuck."

"You need to help where you can. Help them," Nolan waved his hand at the crowd. "I need to have a word with the Supervisor."

"Call the Capitol. Ask _them_ for help – manpower for rescue, medicine, anything. You ask them, Nolan," Haymitch gritted his teeth. _We mined for them_ was left unspoken but it was understood.

Nolan gave a curt nod and went off, trying his best to get things under control. Haymitch was left on his own, looking around him, out of place and lost. He had no idea how to help. He had no idea how to offer comfort.

Greasy Sae limped towards him with multiple thermos of coffee with a young boy by her side. When she saw Haymitch, she nudged the boy forward and gave him a grim smile.

"Take these," she shoved two flasks and several paper cups to Haymitch, "make sure it gets around. This is Mellark's boy. You and him, go around and do somethin'."

"I don't think coffee helps," Haymitch muttered but he accepted those things, adjusting his grip on them.

"Maybe not but even the smallest things… Boy," she addressed the young boy, "you stick close to him if you want to help."

With that, she went off, pouring coffee to wives and mothers, and those waiting for loved ones.

"Sir," the boy spoke. He had blue eyes and blonde hair, and every bit a Mellark as Haymitch remember. "Mum said we should feed them but they are not for free, and Greasy Sae said she can't get these."

Haymitch glanced down at the basket of breads the boy was struggling to carry. It was probably half of the boy's weight. Of course, Haymitch thought, Eva Mellark wouldn't be giving anything for free, not even when tragedy fell swiftly upon the district. Her husband probably, but not her.

He grabbed whatever coin he could find in his pocket and dropped it into the boy's pocket. "For Mace's basket, too," Haymitch nodded at the older Mellark boy walking among the crowd. "You heard Sae. Walk with me."

"Alright," the boy nodded, falling in step.

Strangely, it didn't feel terribly awkward with the boy next to him. He was good with people and while Haymitch was quiet in pouring coffee, the boy offered words of comfort. He had a rule about not interacting with children in the district which made it all the more pathetic that he needed the boy to help the people in the district.

 _Pathetic and useless_ , he thought bitterly, as he pressed hot cup of coffees into cold, shaking and terrified hands.

"My name's Peeta," the boy said out of the blue.

"Yeah, didn't ask for it," Haymitch muttered.

Peeta bit his tongue but he looked up at Haymitch curiously. He should feel awful but he just didn't want to remember this boy's name.

"Here, m'am, have something to eat, please. Mister Abernathy's got coffee, too. It's cold out here and a hot cup of coffee would keep the cold away for a little while as you wait. Please have something. It isn't much but I'm very sorry about what's happened. It's really awful," the boy comforted an old lady. "If you need anything, I will try to help."

Haymitch blinked in surprise. The kid was something, saying things Haymitch could never say. When Peeta laid a comforting hand on the old woman's shoulder, she nodded in thanks and accepted the coffee, holding on to the boy's hand in a tight grip, desperate for comfort.

"My son… My son is in there."

"I'm sorry," Peeta said again.

He couldn't stand to witness any of it anymore so he walked away. It wasn't long before he heard Peeta's footsteps hurrying after him only to collide into him when Haymitch stopped abruptly.

Iris Everdeen stood, hunched with exhaustion holding on to her youngest girl. Haymitch couldn't remember the oldest girl's name but she was there, staring at the mines in distressed with tears streaming silently down her face.

She started and stood straighter at the grinding sound of rusted metals. There was a collective movement as everyone stood up, searching curiously for the sound. Everyone watched as a single elevator rose from the deep belly of the mine, spilling workers onto the surface. The miners were covered in coal dust and ash, their faces encrusted with soot and smeared by blood, and blackened sweat on their bodies.

Haymitch heard raspy voices calling for help and disjointed words as some of the survivors tried to recount what had happened through ragged breathing. He caught words like 'methane gas', 'dust explosion' and 'falling rocks'.

They confirmed that there was still many others trapped underground trying to claw their way out.

"Dad's still inside," a tiny voice shrieked. "Mum! He's still down there. We got to help him!"

"We can't, Katniss. We can't do anything."

Haymitch pressed the heels of his palm against his eyes. _That's Aspen's family. That's Aspen's family,_ he kept repeating in his head over and over.

"Sir? Mr. Abernathy?"

"I can't – I got to… Here, you can do it, yeah?" he dropped the thermos into Peeta's basket.

Backing away from the crowd, away from Iris and Katniss and her little sister, he stood at the fringe. He wanted to go back to his hole and shut it all out. There was nothing for him to do here, no help that he could offer and no words to soothe the pain but he remained frozen, watching his district in pain.

The district remained waiting as one, tensed and anxious, holding their breaths and rising to their feet together when the next elevator emerged from the tunnel, carrying with it more miners. There were cries of relief for those whose family members made it out. Faces crumpled when it wasn't their husband, wives, brother, daughter or father in that elevator and they resumed the wait, hoping, hoping, hoping.

The sky had grown dark, pitch black, masking the smokes from the explosion. As the hours passed, hopes began to dwindle.

Haymitch heard the footsteps of someone approaching. He felt the presence and slight bump of hand against his side.

"He's dead. He's dead, Mitchie, I can feel it."

The use of his childhood named felt a like a stab in his heart especially since he was here, standing for hours waiting for news of people who had at one point made his childhood bearable, easier, happier.

There was no need for him to turn his head for him to know who was speaking. Even after years had passed, even after he had moved out from the Seam, he still recognised the voice.

"We don't know that," he muttered. He tried but it sounded terrible to his ears because he didn't have much faith that they could still be alive.

"My husband is gone. I can always feel him. I can always feel Toby but all I feel is emptiness. What do I tell my children?"

That was when he glanced over at Hazelle. She looked helpless and lost, nothing like the girl who used to laugh at him singing or the girl who threw mud in his face, who sat with him in prison and gave her share of her game to his starving brother.

He brought his arm around her shoulder, awkward and uncertain, and squeezed it lightly.

"You tell them the truth. You tell them Toby was good man and a good father."

There was a time when putting her arm around Aspen or Hazelle was second nature to him. So he tried to find the easiness in him just this once, to offer something and tried not to think of the fact that she might not want his comfort after he pushed them all away. So when she buried her face in his chest and cried, Haymitch kept his arm around her. He kept his head up, searching the crowds for Aspen and Toby, feeling Hazelle's tears stained his shirt. From where he was, he watched Iris and her daughters, too.

When all hope was lost, his eyes followed Iris as she carried her youngest child in her arms to head home. She had to pass by him and she did, her eyes flickering to Hazelle in his embrace. For the first time in nineteen years, Haymitch reached out, fingers curling around her wrist lightly.

"It takes this for you come out and seek my husband?" the corner of her eyes wrinkled.

"I'm sorry," he said over the tragedy, never over pushing Aspen away. He did it for his friend. That had been the right thing to do.

It took Iris awhile but knowing there was nothing to else to say, she nodded. Her eyes already looked empty and dead.

"My daughter wouldn't leave. I don't know how to make her –"

"I'll stay," he found himself saying. He released both women so they could walk home together, quiet in their grief.

That girl, she would be about eleven Haymitch concluded after some quick calculation, stayed at the mining site until dawn broke and the sun rose. She stayed until the elevator stopped creaking and stopped bringing back any more survivors. Haymitch didn't approach her, just kept an eye out for her out of view.

He was there to witness the girl broke down, crying and sobbing once she realised her father was lost underground. He was there to witness her calling out for her father and when she had no more energy left, he watched Nolan take her hand to walk her home, leaving him as the last person left on the mining site.

He felt for the flask in his pocket and uncapped it, bringing it to his mouth before he stopped. He hadn't had a drink for hours, the longest he went without a drink so far and there was nothing more he wanted than to drink himself into oblivion but it didn't feel right. Not on the day of Aspen's and Toby's death. They were his friend, Aspen was his good friend and that man was gone.

Somehow, he managed to get back home, stumbling through his house tiredly. The coal dust had settled over his skin and he smelt of smoke but bleary eyed, he went to the phone.

"Sweetheart," he rasped. "Want to hear something? My friends are dead."

There was only silence on the phone.

"You heard what I said? You ain't deaf, are you? Thought you always had somethin' to say… What's happened?"

"I – I'm sorry to hear that, Haymitch. I didn't know…. I didn't know you had any friends in the district. I was under the impression that you kept to yourself."

"Used to… I used to have and now they're fucking dead."

"What happened to them, Haymitch? Are you… drunk?"

"Wish I was. I think I should drink. I wanted to honour their memories," he chuckled. "I wanted to honour… I can't deal with this sober," he said with a note of finality and walked over to the grab a bottle of whiskey, stretching the cord as he did so.

He heard her small sigh as she waited for him to take the necessary mouthful. She would nag given the usual circumstances but this wasn't usual. He could count on his fingers the number of times he called her before and never once did he wanted to just _talk_ because he felt too much and couldn't deal with it on his own.

"The coal mines exploded. Knew it was bound to happen. Word was, miners been complaining 'bout the state of the mines, asking for better equipment and all but nothin's been done. It exploded today, trapped a hell of a lot of people underground."

Effie gasped. These kinds of accident were hardly ever reported in the Capitol newspaper and even if it was, it would never be on the front page news which meant it was easily missed or glossed over. Haymitch wondered if Effie ever considered the possibility that working in the mines was dangerous and lethal; that so many things could go wrong under those tunnels.

"It's different, you know," he finished half the bottle.

"What is?"

"Knowing they're dead. I stopped talkin' to them – haven't properly spoken to any of them since I won the Games – but it's different knowin' they're alive somewhere with their own family. It's okay if we ain't talking no more but at least they were alive. Now they're dead and fuck," he cursed. "Fuck."

"Why did you stop talking to them?" Effie asked softly. "Did you have a disagreement?"

His laugh was bitter and broken. Sometimes he forgot that Effie Trinket could be naïve.

"Wanted to spare them, didn't I? I wanted to spare them, all of them – Hazelle, Toby, Aspen especially. They shouldn't remain friends with me. _He'll_ kill them all, use them as leverage, so I ended it."

Effie was quiet before tentatively, she asked the question Haymitch usually avoided talking about. "Is this about your family?"

He chose not to answer that. It was about losing the last few people who had known him before the Games. It was about losing his good friend, his oldest friend, who had been like family to him. It was like losing Lief all over again. It wasn't about his family and yet, it felt like it.

He was starting to wonder if it had been wrong of him to pretend Aspen didn't exist to save his life.

Haymitch slid to the floor, back against the wall with the phone receiver pressed close to his ears as he listened to the sound of her breathing. Breathing was good; breathing meant that she was alive. Breathing… Aspen and Toby had likely suffocated to their death if the initial blast hadn't ripped them and killed them. He imagined dirt in their nose and their lungs, struggling to inhale air only to choke. How long did it take for them to die?

"I want you here," he said, his words had begun to slur. "You'll know how to make me feel good 'cause sweetheart, I feel fucking terrible right now. You've always been a good fuck – you'd be a good distraction tonight."

Haymitch heard her sharp intake of breath but she was quick as well, giving him as good as she got. "I can't say you're good all the time."

"You ever lost someone, Trinket?"

"Yes."

"Fucking hurts, yeah? Who died? Your cat or something? You want to swap stories?" he chuckled. He sounded deranged, not drunk but mad. He didn't know why he was saying all these to her. Maybe he meant to hurt her, the same way he was feeling right now. He had slipped earlier, showed her a glimpse of vulnerability and he wanted to wrestle back control. "Whose life's more tragic, you know? I bet I'll win."

"This is not a competition, Haymitch. It never was. You are upset and hurting. I want to be your friend and be there for you but not when you are in this state. Not when you are insulting me just to get a reaction from me or just to make yourself feel better. I'm sorry for your loss but this isn't how you ask for comfort. Hang up right now, Haymitch," she told him. "Clean yourself up and try to sleep. I will call you again tomorrow morning - your time."

"You don't get to boss me 'round, sweetheart."

"Goodnight, Haymitch," she said with finality. "And I'm sorry… I'm truly sorry for what happened in Twelve."

"Yeah," he mumbled, tipping his bottle back. "Yeah."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know he didn't really "meet" Katniss and Katniss didn't interact with him. He met Peeta instead ahaha. You see a lot more of the characters from Twelve here and when I wrote this it got slightly out of control bc I wanted to write Haymitch's reaction to the mine explosion that took the life of katniss' father, especially since in Between Lives, he was friends with Mr. Everdeen. I also hope you like that last part with Effie. Haymitch is too alone and lost, and the only one he thought of was Effie.
> 
> Sorry for the sad fic on New Year. Please let a review!


	23. His Father's Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Haymitch Week and I'm very excited about it. Since I already have a collection of one shots dedicated to Haymitch, Haymitch week one shots will be posted to Between Lives.

Haymitch Week Day 1 : Youth

**His Father's Son**   
**(10 years old, 16 years old)**

Lachlan Abernathy was a tough man, hardened by his circumstances. It closed him off and as a result, he wasn't a particularly expressive man. At times, Haymitch found himself discouraged and disheartened when all he received for his enthusiastic stories and good marks was a series of grunts and nods, sometimes a pat on his shoulder.

Lachlan imparted the same indifference attitude towards the world on to his son. He thought Haymitch to be tough, to get back up each time he fell but because Haymitch was small for his age, Lachlan taught him to use his mind and not his fist.

"They broke your nose already. They ain't breaking nothin' no more. There are other ways to win, son."

So he sat a ten year old Haymitch down in front of a chessboard and taught him to figure his way out, to win without bruising his knuckles. He taught Haymitch to solve puzzles and showed his son the scars from his youth to discourage the boy from fighting.

"If you can outsmart 'em, you've got the upper hand," Lachlan muttered under his breath one day.

"Wouldn't it be a whole lot easier to just throw a punch or tackle 'em to the ground, and run off before they know what's hit 'em?" Haymitch asked with a frown.

"I didn't raise no coward. Only cowards take the easy way out. You a coward, boy?"

"No, sir," Haymitch mumbled and looked away, embarrassed by that.

Haymitch missed his father, now more than anything. The old man wouldn't have much to say. He wouldn't even offer words of comfort like his mother would. Lachlan would keep vigil by his bed with a bottle in hand, quiet and watchful. It was all Haymitch wanted.

But his father wasn't here. His mother wasn't here either. The victor from Eleven, Chaff Johnson, had been keeping him company together with Mags but they weren't his parents. They were still strangers to him and he was alone in the Capitol. His stomach had been stitched up and he was drowsy on morphling.

"Are you awake, Abernathy?"

Haymitch blinked. It wasn't his father. That voice was off. His father's voice was deeper and gravel. Still, Haymitch pretended.

"I did it, dad, I outsmarted the Capitol," he whispered, his mind a cloudy haze from the medication. "I won the way you taught me."

It was only two weeks later that he wished his father had never given him that advice because it cost him everything. Haymitch lost the only people who meant the world to him and he was alone, just as he had been in the hospital.

 


	24. Failing Peeta Mellark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have gone the hayffie route but I decided to do a Papa Haymitch instead. There's hayffie if you squint but I also like my Team 12 feels.

**Haymitch Week Day 3: Relationship**

* * *

**Failing Peeta Mellark**

**_(41 years old)_ **

Often times, Haymitch believed that those people sitting in Command was under the impression that only Katniss was emotionally affected by Peeta's capture. _He_ was grieving too. He was anxious and stress and a part of him placed the blame of Peeta's arrest squarely on his shoulder.

Nobody bothered to tell him anything while he was drying out. When Plutarch visited, it was always Katniss this and Katniss that, and he was glad to be kept in the loop on Katniss' progress, or lack thereof, in District Thirteen but nobody would tell him about Peeta Mellark.

He was not at all aware of Peeta's propo, not until much later after he was released from the rehabilitation facility which sent him into a state. He had demanded that he be granted an audience with the President and then proceeded to remind both Plutarch and President Coin in a way that left Effie shaking her head that Katniss and Peeta are _his_ responsibility, and that his role as their mentor did not end just because they had left the Games and the Capitol behind.

"This war is still the damn arena," Haymitch snapped at Plutarch but it was difficult to make an impression when his nose was stuffed and his voice nasal. "Just a different kind."

"He's taking Peeta's capture hard," he overhead his escort telling Plutarch. "Just because he's not showing how distress he is, doesn't make it any less terrible for him."

He had not care for anyone as much until Katniss and Peeta came along, Effie Trinket notwithstanding. Those two kids woke something up in him; a fire he thought had long died. They gave him hope.

The genuine concern he showed over Katniss and Peeta came as a surprise even to himself, and once Effie had lamented that he was playing the role of a father figure.

He hadn't given it that much thought but now...

Haymitch spent countless sleepless night thinking about how different things could have gone. It was a form of mental torture but with no alcohol in this place to dull his thoughts, his mind was free to explore all the 'what-ifs' and play each scenario until he was exhausted.

He thought about what could have happened if the hovercraft had left only two minutes later after they had extracted Katniss. There could be a chance that they might have picked Peeta up. Johanna, too.

He thought about how things would have turn out if only he had come clean to Peeta about the rebels' plan to break them out of the arena because unlike Katniss, Peeta could be counted upon to play it for the cameras.

_No, it'll still be risky with Snow watchin' them._

He thought about Peeta's parents and the loathing they would have felt for him if they knew that he had turned their son into a pawn in this war. A small, selfish past of him was glad that they perished in the fire-bombing but he was revolted by his own train of thought. Haymitch would have gladly face their hatred and anger – nothing he wasn't used to – if it meant that Peeta would still have his family. Peeta's mother wasn't much but he supposed Peeta still loved her all the same.

That boy was an orphan just like him. Haymitch could only hope that if - _when,_ not if, he reprimanded himself – they get Peeta out, the news of his family's demise would not break the boy like it had broken him.

He and Katniss had made a deal to keep Peeta alive and he still is which meant there was still work to be done. He just needed Katniss to focus because that first propo she made was a disaster. He hope sending her to Eight would work. It had to work.

And it did.

When President Snow retaliated by bombing District Thirteen and sent those white roses for Katniss, it was Haymitch's comfort she sought, not anyone else. She knew she wasn't the only one who cared about Peeta. She expected him to understand and by God, he understood her pain.

He love that boy, too.


	25. Finding Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Haymitch tried to deal with being sent back to District Twelve after the war….

** Finding Home  
** _(42 years old)_

Standing in front of the house he had inhabited for the past two decades knowing that this structure was among the few left standing in District Twelve brought about a surreal, desolate feeling.

Holding his breath, he took a look around at the rod-iron gates that swung inwards towards the village, the chipped fountain of angels in flight in the middle of the walkway towards the houses and as he inched closer, at the shrubberies and vines growing in front of his house. Everything was the same as if time had hung frozen while he was away. He released his breath, the thin fog rising in front of him.

He had been gone for months, _months,_ if not a year or more, put through intense withdrawals, fought off a war and toppled a tyrannical government, and yet this house remained. Stepping inside his front door, his foot nudged the empty bottles out of his way and watched them roll down the hallway. Dirty clothes were still strewn on the floor, now coated with a thin layer of dust like everything else in this house.

This sight was familiar.

Everything was exactly as he had placed it. He felt like he never left.

The first thing he did was to empty the rucksack of the bottles of liquor he had stolen from the Presidential Mansion.

He opened one, gulped down the contents and let the familiar burn of liquid comfort him.

He didn’t want to be here.

Each time he looked out of the window, the self-loathing rose like a bile in his throat. The destruction that lay beyond Victor’s Village was because of him. It started from the moment he approached Seneca Crane to spin the star crossed lovers story, and now, it came down to this – the annihilation of his district.

When the Rebellion broke across the country, he was already deeply embroiled in it. He had refused to think of the end and of what he could do, what he would be able to do. He didn’t want to give himself hope. It felt treacherous to have hope so early when his fate was still hanging by a thread.

But when Snow was captured and held prisoner in his own mansion, Haymitch had allowed himself to imagine a future where he was free, and while he was it, he never did picture himself back here in District Twelve.

There was nothing for him here in District Twelve, only nightmares and ghosts. The war would have ideally closed that chapter of his life. He could try to move on without walking on the same ground where he had buried his family and countless of tributes, where bones and skeletons of the locals had turned to ashes.

He imagined District Seven somehow. The image came unbidden in his mind and the more he thought of it, the more he longed for that cabin in the woods. While he wasn’t sure if Effie would agree to come with him, it didn’t seem to be her scene after all, he would have still have asked anyway. He would be contented with her visits.

It didn’t matter now.

He was back here with fresh responsibilities. He was back here for Katniss.

He wasn’t very good with responsibilities. He did what he was always good at – he got drunk.

Haymitch was vaguely aware of the comings and goings of Greasy Sae, bringing updates of Katniss living next door to him. Like him, the girl was keeping to herself. Like him, she didn’t want to be here anymore than he did. They were both trapped once again like they were before, in a house none of them asked for.

He drifted in and out of awareness, surfacing once in a while when his liver managed to break down the poison he kept ingesting.

Greasy Sae’s raspy voice was telling him that he should eat.

Greasy Sae was telling him that Katniss had not left her bed in a week.

He grumbled something unintelligible.  

He wondered, if only briefly, how long it had been since they returned home but in the end, it did not matter. They would be here till the end of time. Katniss was not allowed to leave and he was bound to her.

The house phone rang.

Stumbling drunk, he answered it if only to make the noise stop.

There was a woman on the phone, sharp, shrill voice demanding an attention he couldn’t give. She sounded increasingly agitated.  

In his haze, he registered Peeta’s name in her voice.

“Haymitch,” he heard this woman said, “Haymitch!”

He hung up.

There were more bottles, more days passed out unaware.

“How’s Katniss?” he slurred one evening.

At the back of his mind, he realized albeit belatedly that he had palmed off his responsibility to Greasy Sae. Old and hunched, she came over every day to make sure they were both alive.

Greasy Sae was annoyed. He could tell from the tone of her voice when she grumbled and asked if he cared at all, and if he did, he should have gone to check on Katniss.

He bristled.

He cared about the girl. Of course, he did. He was here, wasn’t he? _He_ agreed to be her guardian. He put his needs and wants on hold, cast it aside because of her. He cared more than anyone knew.

“Haymitch!”

The voice was as familiar as this house.

He turned on his sides and pressed his face on the sofa.

“Oh, enough with this already!” the woman clicked her tongue in disapprobation. He felt fingers nudging and prodding his flesh. “When was the last time you have a meal? Or a shower?”

This woman was persistent. He cursed her internally, willing her to leave him be.

Instead, he felt impatient hands grabbing his arms and hauling his dead weight up so he was sitting. The strength surprised him. He scrambled for his knife.

“Don’t bother,” she said. “I’ve put it away before you can stab someone with it. I know you too well.”

He shielded his eyes against the painful glare of the sun streaming fiercely through the window. She had parted the drapes to let the lights in.

“Effie,” he breathed in recognition. “What a beautiful dream.”

Her face scrunched in annoyance and fondness.

“I can assure you, Haymitch, I am very much here. I’m not in one of your dreams. Now, get up. Half a day wasted already… Do you know what one can accomplish within that time?”

“Huh.”

“Do get up, Haymitch, please. Can you stand?”

He grappled her upper arms to stand shakily on his legs, and he lurched forward to kiss her, a sloppy, messy and wet kiss, none of the finesse and the skill with which he often kiss her when he was half-sober.

She pushed him away.

“I miss you,” he mumbled.

“I know,” she sighed softly. “I do, too. But forgive me for saying this, your breath is horrid and you smell of sweat and… I’d rather not think about it. Let’s get you clean up.”

The cold shower cleared his head. Still, he watched her under hooded eyes as she went about cleaning him and washing his hair. He tried to get her out of her clothes but she would have none of it. Disenchanted, he took the toothbrush wordlessly.

A part of him was embarrassed that she was still cleaning after him but another was glad to see her.

Greasy Sae had left a plate which Effie heated up for him. They settled in the kitchen, cups of coffee to warm them up.

“Why did you fall back?”

He snorted, “I’ve always been this way.”

“No, you haven’t. I’ve seen you sober,” Effie folded her arms and looked at him crossly. “You’re supposed to be responsible for Katniss.”

“Her mother’s supposed to be responsible for her,” he snapped, the repressed frustration bubbled to the surface in her presence. She was always the only person who could coax the truth out of him. “I ain’t her father, you know. I shouldn’t -”

He snapped his mouth shut, breathing heavily.

“You don’t want to be here,” Effie said, startled at the realisation.

He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms.

“No, I don’t. But I got to, right?” he released a tired, defeated breath. “I’m allowed to be selfish once in a while.”

“Where would you have gone?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Was thinking of Seven.”

“What’s at Seven?” Effie asked with an indulgent smile.

“A cabin would be nice. No one depending on me, no one expectin’ anything outta me. There’d be tall, green trees when you look out the window, firewood cracklin’ in the house. You.”

“Me?”

“I’d make a room for you. We could…” he trailed off and brought his cup of coffee to his lips, gulping it down.

This talk was taking a dangerous path, a hopeless one.

“We could always have a house in the woods, Haymitch,” Effie said and his eyes snapped at her. “One day.”

He snorted.    

“Peeta’s coming home in a week. I came because…. I needed to make sure you’re alright. Katniss is fine on her own. She’s grieving and moping, but she could hold it on her own. But Peeta… I can’t have you passed out drunk all the time. Peeta might slip into one his episodes unexpectedly and he’ll need you. Katniss would too.”

He swallowed the guilt. She was right. He should be here for the kids. It was unfair to Katniss what he was doing; to bring her home and then leave her to Sae while he drowned himself in the bottom of a bottle again.

“I’ll cut down,” he said eventually.

Effie smiled, her eyes lighting up and it put him at ease.

“Come,” she beckoned.

She brought him to the back yard where he spotted three white feathered fowls, noisy as a hungry infant.

“Greasy Sae found these geese. I said to leave it here, that you’ll take care of them.”

“I ain’t in a habit of adopting strays.”

“You do,” she pointed out simply and left it at that. “Anyway, I do not quite like how noisy they are but I thought it will give you something to focus on, something to take your mind off, and fill your time other than drinking.” 

“Fatten them up, serve them on a plate. How’d you like them cook, sweetheart?”

“Haymitch,” she whacked his chest, “honestly.”

He laughed then. It was the first time the sound tumbled from his lips since he returned to Twelve after the war. He slung his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, pressing a kiss on her temple.

“Thanks.”

For pulling him out of his drunken stupor, for helping him again and again, for the geese even though he wasn’t sure if her plan would work.

“My train will leave tomorrow,” she told him, pressing a cheek against his chest, “but I’ll come back again next week with Peeta. I’ll bring him home.”

“Okay.”

“Haymitch,” she pulled his attention back to her once again when it grew quiet between them. “It doesn’t have to be District Seven. We would be lonely. This can be home, too. Katniss and Peeta will be here, they’re family.”

He mulled it over.

“Yeah,” he shrugged finally because all he heard in that was that she would be with him.

_We._

 


	26. One Step Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss Haymitch a whole lot, and I had this sudden thought for this one-shot, so here it is :) There's hayffie if you squint.

 

** One Step Forward  
** _(43 years old)_

The entire district was a mass graveyard, one that was being built upon, slowly and a little each day.

People were moving back to Twelve. Shops had begun to sparsely spring up selling the basic necessities and there was already some semblance of life to a district that only half a year ago had been razed to the ground, leaving it an empty desolate land.

Haymitch let his feet guide him, one step at a time until he came upon a stretch of road. The road itself was no longer familiar. The place had been dug, paved and then cemented following the bombings that had left a huge crater in the middle of it.

The cemetery at the end of the road was destroyed and there was not even an indication that it used to be a place where the dead were buried. Except for the broken tombstones, it was an empty land as far as they eye could see; a clean slate.

It was probably a sign, if Haymitch believed in things like that.

There was nothing to see and yet, he ventured in to stand upon familiar grounds. It might not look the same but it did not mean that Haymitch did not know the place.

The markers that marked his parents' grave and his brother's were gone but they had been buried at this exact spot he was standing so he stayed.

For a long time, all he did was to stare at the patch of earth.

There were plans to turn the cemetery into _something_ but there was nothing concrete yet. To the people in Twelve, this place was not a priority and people were not too comfortable about disturbing the place, even if it resembled nothing of what it used to be.

"The Games are over - "

The words tumbled out of his lips, unbidden. The dead wouldn't care about what was happening in their world but he felt that he _needed_ to share, that he owed it to them that something good came out of all these deaths and pain and destruction.

"- and I'm still standing."

The place was eerily quiet except for the occasional chirping of the birds that had made a nest in one of the only remaining trees in the cemetery that still stood despite the devastation. The cold draft of wind blew in the air and Haymitch pulled on his collars.

"Don't know how I made it, truthfully. Some days, I wake up and still have a hard time believin' that I'm alive. I think - "

He rubbed the back of his neck and retrieved the flask from his pocket. The sip that brought a little burn to his throat and gave him some warmth in the cold provided him some comfort.

"I think I'm being given a second shot at – I don't know - at living."

He tried to picture his mother but it had been so long he was beginning to forget her face and it made his blood ran cold. There was a photograph of when he was ten years of age and Lief was still a tiny toddler with his parents. It was faded with age but Effie had taken it and had sent it to photographer with the hopes having it restored or preserved. He wasn't sure if it would work but he let her.

"I don't know why I'm here. Goodbye, maybe," he shrugged without a thought even if there was no one to see him do it and especially not the dead. "I had to come for one last time. Stupid, yeah, but … Your graves are gone and this whole place might not be around much longer," he exhaled shakily. "Before they built something on this ground and I thought it was good to … I've never said goodbye. I've never let go; never let myself heal properly over any of your deaths.

"The guilt, it's… I'm never gonna forget you even if your graves aren't here no more but I need to – I need to move on. I need to _live_. The boy – Peeta – thinks it's an insult to those who died and to those who sacrificed their lives for us if we don't live our lives. Could be some bullshit his therapist fed him but he's got a point. I need to forgive myself – that's the only way forward. I couldn't do that over the past twenty odd years and truth is, I don't think I can do it now but I gotta _try_ and this time I'm willing to try. I made it, Ma, and I don't wanna waste it."

He fell silent when he heard voices but his presence went unnoticed.

"The kids… They need me. Not for long, I think, but right now, they need me and Effie, too," he muttered and chuckled. "You'll like those kids. They're good kids – _mine_ , only have each other now. Hell, you might even like Effie. She's a handful, snobbish too but she's got good heart. You'll like her. Lief might like her, too."

He wished there was a way that he could really know that but he would never know the answer and suddenly, it felt useless being here.

"This is fuckin' stupid," he muttered, rubbing his face in frustration.

There was nothing to find here. The graves it once held was gone. Everything from his past was gone. It was time to go.

Haymitch turned away and walked the same path the came from. He gave one last look over his shoulder and he knew then that he would not return. Whatever plans the post-war committee had for this place for a better future, it was better than the acres of land filled with their dead who lost their lives to the game and Snow's regime. It would be filled with hope and life, and it would be better.

 _Forward_.

There would undoubtedly be some form of memorial in this district but to Haymitch, there would be other ways for him to remember the tributes he lost and the family that was taken from him. He did not need three grave markers to remember his family. He could honour them by giving his own life a shot – a life that they never had – and by protecting the family he now had, dysfunctional as they may be.

His mother would have wanted that for him, he supposed.


	27. Dear, Ma

**Dear Ma  
** _(ten years old and twenty years old)_

Haymitch Abernathy was born on a stormy winter night, when the wind was ferocious outside and snow kept everyone in. The blizzard had knocked the power lines out which sent Lachlan Abernathy scrambling to keep the house lighted up with candles.

Whenever Isla recounted that night, she would always tell it with a laugh. Years after his birth, it seemed to amuse her the fact that no one present was able to tell which was louder – her screams while in labour or the howling wind.

"Oh, you were a stubborn one, Haymitch," Isla would say as she brushed his hair away from his face. "You took hours – _hours._ I thought you weren't at all interested to see the world; that you wanted to stay in me a little longer. I would have woken the neighbours up with my screaming had it not been for the storm."

Imagining that night would always make him shiver, so he would curl further into his mother to seek the warmth of her embrace as they both squeeze in his small tattered cot.

"I waited for hours for Lief," Haymitch reminded his mother when his brother was finally born. "So I ain't the only stubborn one, nah-uh."

"You were eager to meet your brother," his mother told him in her quiet voice. "Time stretch longer than usual when you want something, doesn't it? It was easier for me with Lief."

His brows crinkled at that comment and Haymitch pushed himself up.

"I'm sorry, Ma," Haymitch placed his small palm on his mother's cheek.

At only ten, his palm was starting to callous from the odd jobs he learnt to do for food.

"I didn't mean to make it hurt for you. I'll be good, I swear."

"No, Haymitch. Never apologise for being born. Never, you understand?" she told him sternly, willing him to comprehend it before her expression softened and she pulled him to her. "You are the bestest gift. You are my first born, my _life._ I would go through it all again for _you._ "

"I don't want you to," Haymitch told her in all seriousness. "You said it was painful. I don't want you hurt. I'd protect you!"

Haymitch jerked awake, breathing heavily in the night.

His nightmares were often exaggeration of his fears but that… That was not a play of his subconscious. That was a memory he had long forgotten, and had chosen now of all time to resurface.

Haymitch stumbled out of bed and made his way through the house which was entirely much too huge for only him to live in. It was oppressively quiet. He dragged his feet to the fireplace and sighed at the dying embers.

Outside, all he saw was a swirling coat of dense white snow.

 _That_ might have triggered it.

The wood was cold beneath his feet. Thankfully for him, he knew just the thing to keep him warm. Haymitch found the bottle stashed in one of the cupboards in the kitchen.

He hesitated.

Haymitch pulled the chair and dropped heavily on to it as if he was carrying the weight of the world's burden on his shoulders.

He been drinking every night to help him deal with his nightmares and he _knew_ that it was not healthy, that he should not go on this way. He was aware that he was going down a slippery slope but he did not know how else to cope.

Drinking was the only thing that helped.

He missed his family on desolate nights like this, when others had someone they love to keep them warm.

But he was alone and he had no one to talk to, no one to share his fears and nightmares; no one to tell him to _stop_ and find a better way to deal with his problems.

"Only you and me," he muttered.

With shaky hands, Haymitch uncapped the bottle and poured himself a glass. He downed that in one go. The burn in his throat made him screw his eyes shut but it was also comforting, and warm. So he poured himself another.

_I'd protect you._

Haymitch scoffed at the memory. He made the promise when he was ten, not realizing just how foolish and how inept he was at fulfilling it.

He shouldn't go down that road but his thoughts began to wander treacherously, pulling him deeper into self-despair. He thought of the pain he had put his mother through during his birth. He thought of the pain she went through when she was murdered because burning alive must have been painful, so much more than giving birth to him, he supposed.

She shouldn't have given birth to him, he thought darkly, now bringing the bottle straight to his lips.

For all he knew, she could still be alive now.

Lief should have been her first born. He would have been a better one because he would have died in that arena and that would be it. His mother wouldn't have paid the price. Lief should have been her _only_ son.

He hated himself for that thought because he loved his brother just as much.

With the bottle empty, Haymitch made his way to the kitchen window. He could stop this pain if he was brave enough and if he wasn't such a coward. He could step outside; end it the way it started for him in the winter storm.

He pushed open the window and the biting cold draft of air across his face made him clenched his jaw.

How many times had he contemplated this?

He couldn't accept dying in the arena. He couldn't do it now. He was too stubborn. He was too much of a survivor.

He slammed the window shut.

Not for the first time, he yearned for his mother's touch. Just one last time, he wanted to feel the gentle kiss against his forehead or the heat from her fingertips against his cheek. He wanted her comfort.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this a few days ago under flu medication and it turns out to be quite dark. but worry not, he's twenty and alone, somewhere down the road he will meet people that matters. I just wanted so explore how alone he is in twelve.


	28. Disciplining Katniss

** Between Lives: Disciplining Katniss **

_(41 years old)_

Haymitch Abernathy was furious.

He crushed the earpiece in his fist and shoved it deep inside his pocket. He stalked down the hall with a scowl on his face, oblivious to the women scurrying out of his path until one called on him.

"Haymitch. Haymitch! Oh, do slow down."

It took him a moment to register the familiarity of the voice but when he did, he slowed down until she caught up with him.

“How was Katniss in District – Are you alright?” Effie asked abruptly when she caught the look on his face. “What did she do?”

“She’s impossible,” Haymitch spat.

He quickened his pace and was somewhat glad to see that Effie, without her heels, was doing well in keeping up with his strides. Haymitch entered his compartment and threw the thin white earpiece on the table.

“Haymitch….”

“I tried to _warn_ her but she wouldn’t even let me finish and off she went doing what she think is best,” Haymitch went on. “Disobeyed me.”

Effie took a sit at the edge of his bed, hands folded neatly in front of her as her eyes tracked his pacing back and forth in that small room.

“Is she okay, Haymitch? I did not see her coming back with you in that hovercraft,” Effie asked instead before coming to a conclusion that made him roll his eyes. “She has to be if you’re here ranting.”

"We had to take off because of the danger. She came later in a cargo plane with Boggs and the others. She’s fine – I made sure. She’s in the hospital right now gettin’ treatment.”

"Good, then,” Effie nodded in satisfaction. “I’m glad that you are both back here in one piece. I shall pay her a visit.”

"You do that, sweetheart, ‘cause right now, I can't look at her without wantin’ to strangle the life out of her."

“What did Katniss do to have you so riled up?” Effie asked. “Tell me.”

She reached out to touch his hand and there was something about her touch that calmed him. He pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the throbbing in his head and let out a breath before taking a seat next to her on the bed.

Haymitch told her a play by play of what went down in District Eight.

“We were explicit. Get back on the hovercraft but she turned around and I _knew_ what she wanted to do but she also knew that I’d try to stop her so she yanked her fuckin’ earpiece off. Broke the connection – couldn’t talk to her and no way to know if she was…” he inhaled shakily.

Katniss might not realised it but she had scare him. The pilot had pulled the hovercraft and they had taken off or risk exposing themselves, and that was exactly how it had been when he lost Peeta at the arena. He thought he was going to lose her, too.

“She made it back, Haymitch,” Effie spoke softly to soothe him. “She made it back.”

“It could have gone wrong. She needs to learn to _listen_. There are people who know better.”  

"You are partly furious because Katniss is incapable of following instructions and has a certain disregard for authority?" Effie queried but the tone in her voice made him glance at her. "Well, Haymitch, that sounds too much like someone I know."

Haymitch scowled.

"It's not funny, Effs. This is _serious_. You think Coin will take these things lightly? She'll have Katniss in for insubordination if she knew."

"Then do not tell her,” Effie advised. She rubbed her thumb soothingly over his knuckles.  “She was not there. She does not need to know. Protect Katniss, Haymitch. It is our job."

"That's exactly what I was trying to do, yeah? How am I supposed to protect her when she runs head on into danger?"

"Talk to her, make her understand," Effie counselled. "This is not child's play. We're in a war."

"Yeah," he nodded, suddenly exhausted. "We got the footage at least. That better be good."

"Let me check on that. I will go down to the studio immediately and then to the hospital. Do not worry. You have done enough for today."

She ran her thumb across his brows and made to stand up but Haymitch grabbed her wrist lightly. He gave her an expectant look which made her stoop down with a smile to press a quick kiss on his lips.

Came morning, during the meeting in Command, Katniss and Gale were already present when he walked in. He made certain not to look in her direction or talk to her to make his displeasure known. He supposed it must be working since she gave him a furtive glance. The sardonic, deadly smile he threw her way while they were discussing about sending her back to ‘combat’ was passive-aggressive enough that he was certain she would try to avoid him for the next few days.

But, Haymitch was no whistle blower so throughout the meeting, he kept the incident with the earpiece to himself and also, because he remembered Effie’s words – _‘Protect, Katniss.’_

He made sure that Plutarch kept it to himself, too. Boggs was not going to admit that he lost control of Katniss when he was on the ground with her so there was that understanding.

Just because he was shielding her, it did not mean that he would let the matter rest.

He walked into the hospital after the meeting ended hoping to have a talk with Katniss only to find her asleep and Effie sitting next to her bed.

"She _just_ went to sleep. I think it is the medication. Whatever talking down you wish to do - "

"I'll wait," he declared and showed her his wrist. "Nothing to do."

"How lucky. I do not have that much time. My presence is required at the Studio in ten minutes. I just came in hoping to say hello but she is asleep.”

She let her gaze wandered to the things he was carrying in his hand. He had borrowed it earlier from Weaponary to make a point.

"I do not want to know," Effie said when he raised his hand and opened his mouth to explain. “If she were to ask me, I could deny ever knowing.”

With a smirk, Haymitch dragged a chair from the nearby bed and set it next to her.

"You've been taking her side," he pointed out. "Somethin' I should know about?"

Effie busied herself smoothing out Katniss’ blanket and did not answer him immediately. Haymitch didn’t push.

"We've already lost Peeta...." She said after a stretch of silence. "Katniss... Katniss is here."

"Ah," he leaned against his chair. “Yeah, I get it.”

“I will see you at dinner,” she said, brushing her hand across his shoulder as she passed.

Haymitch waited, legs stretched out and resting on the empty chair Effie had just vacated. He crossed his arms and watched Katniss sleep.

To be perfectly honest, he couldn’t blame her for what she did, not truly. He understood why she did the things she did. It was what made her Katniss.

He would like to think that he would have done the same. That he would have ignored a command asking him to stand aside and watch as a hospital was bombed.

But that was beside the point.

Katniss needed to learn to follow instructions. It wasn’t her disregard for him that made him angry. He was used to being disregarded and cast aside. It was the fact that here, in District Thirteen, President Coin demanded that every person adhere to the rules and the laws set up. He could protect Katniss this one time but he could not guarantee the same if she were to continuously disobey a command. Coin would think her out of control.

Haymitch nodded at the nurse wheeling in the food for the patients. She dropped a tray for Katniss.  

He was scheduled for lunch but he thought of going to the dining hall did not appeal to him at the moment so he pulled the tray onto his lap and after making sure no one was there to witness it, he ate the stew.

When Katniss finally did wake up, she startled at the sight of him.

He wasted no time in going straight to it. Haymitch pulled the wire from his pocket and held it up for her to see. She recognised it for what it is and he tossed it on her bed near her feet.

"That is your earpiece. I will give you exactly one more chance to wear it," he kept his voice low and the warning clear. "If you remove it from your ear again, I'll have you fitted with this."

He bent to pick the item he had retrieved from Weaponary earlier – an audio contraption fitted around the head. It looked very much uncomfortable.

"It's an alternative audio unit that locks around your skull and under your chin until it's opened with a key. And I'll have the only key," he patted his breast pocket, which admittedly, was empty but Katniss did not need to know that. “If for some reason you're clever enough to disable it -"

The headgear followed the earpiece on the bed. Next, he extricated a small silver chip, holding it between his thumb and forefinger for Katniss to see.

"I'll authorize them to surgically implant this transmitter into your ear so that I may speak to you twenty-four hours a day."

"I'll keep the earpiece in."

"Excuse me?" Haymitch asked, leaning forward with a raised eyebrow.

"I'll keep the earpiece in!"

"You sure?” he asked snidely, “because I'm equally happy with any of the three options."

He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t the one at the losing end, after all. _He’ll_ be the one doing all the talking while she had to listen.

He caught the headgear when Katniss threw it in his direction. Satisfied now that Katniss had properly been discipline, he rose to leave.

"While I was waiting...I ate your lunch."

"I'm going to report you."

"You do that, sweetheart."

He had not reported Katniss’ insubordination earlier and Katniss knew it. She would know to return the favour.

At dinner, when Effie asked, he said, "She got the message – loud and clear."

 


	29. A Score of Eleven

**A Score of Eleven**

_(40 years old)_

"You told her to shoot an arrow at the Gamemakers to impress them?" Finnick asked, walking next to him.

"Of course not," Haymitch muttered. "You're absolutely sure about this, though? This ain't just some Capitol melodrama, yeah?"

If there was one thing that he could rely on in the Capitol, it was information that came from Finnick. The information Finnick extracted from his clients were mostly reliable.

And right now, said information was both making him smile with pride and wince at the same time.

"My client was there. One of the Gamemakers…"

Haymitch nodded. "How did your boy do?"

"Guess we'll find out tonight," Finnick shrugged. "All she would talk about yesterday was your girl."

That meant that the other Gamemakers were no different. Katniss must have been the center of their conversation during deliberation. He wasn't sure he liked it. It was too much attention and attention was a double edge sword – both good and bad.

" _Thank you for your consideration,"_ Finnick chuckled as he walked out of the elevator at the fourth floor. "She's got guts that one."

Haymitch caught a glimpse of Cinna down the hallway with several dresses slung over his arm and instead of greeting that stylist, Haymitch made his way into his room. He sat heavily on the bed, his thoughts occupied with the information from Finnick.

Katniss was exactly the sort to act first and think later. She was driven purely by instinct and he wondered where _she_ got it from because her father… The Aspen he knew wasn't that way, except, he only knew Aspen for first 16 years of their lives.

He ran his hand over his hair. Ever since Katniss was reaped, Aspen had frequently been on his mind and it agitated him so Haymitch forced himself to focus on the present.

He thought he knew what pushed Katniss to that. He had years of experience to know that year after year, his tributes were hardly given the time of day since they were the last district to be called in for evaluation. The ignorance of the Gamemakers must have frustrate and stroke her temper. His other tributes were not Katniss and they would not have dared to grab the attention of the Gamemakers the way Katniss had. Hell, he thought, they were all probably relieved to not have any attention on them. Not at all of them had the skills the Gamemakers would deem worthy to evaluate.

If it was quiet when he came into the Penthouse earlier, it was no longer the case. Effie's voice was dominating the scene and it was rising by the second, sharp and shrill.

"How about it's just bad manners, Cinna? How about that?"

Effie must have had it bad, he mused. There was no doubt that by now, a Game Official must have paid Twelve a visit for an official complaint against their district and to give a warning for their team to control their tributes and the ones in the future.

Since he had not been around, then Effie must have been on the receiving end of the stick. It was no wonder she was losing her head. She was used to getting complains about him, not their tributes.

He supposed, it would be best to go out and handle the situation.

"Well, finally," she snapped when she caught sight of him. "I hope you noticed we have a serious situation."

 _Oh,_ he noticed it. Of course, he did.

His mind was also going through the possible repercussion said serious situation could entail. But, instead of giving Effie more reason to be worried, he gave her a reason to be annoyed. At least that would keep her attention away from the problem.

With a grin, he gave Katniss a thumb's up, a reaction nobody expected. Effie pursed her lips in irritation, nostrils flaring. Katniss was clearly surprised by it but it did carve a rare smile on her face.

He thought that he would to pretend not to let his worries show but he didn't have to. He was proud of her. He was proud of what she did when no one else dared to. Not even him during his evaluation.

"Nice shooting, sweetheart," he praised and he meant it, too.

Katniss was obviously relieved that he, at least, was not going after her head. Effie was a different matter entirely. She was pacing in circles behind the sofa. Peeta smiled at him.

"Thanks for your… Thanks for your consideration… Genius! Genius," Haymitch exclaimed because _that_ was the perfect clapback for the Gamemakers.

"I don't think we are going to find this funny if the Gamemakers decide to take it out on…"

"On who?" he interrupted Effie. "On her? On him?"

It made Peeta looked away, uncomfortable.

"They already have. Loosen your corset, have a drink."

Effie was not wrong.

The Gamemakers would take it out on them but she harping on it would serve no purpose other than to make the kids worry even more. Peeta was already approaching the Games with his eventual death in mind so Haymitch waved Effie's concern away, refusing to make a big deal out of it in front of everyone.

And Effie…

How quickly her worry vanished when Katniss' score was revealed. She jumped to her feet, drink in hand as did the stylists. Haymitch remained seated.

The implication of eleven was so very clear to him. Not even the Careers this year had an eleven. In fact, the Games had not seen a score of eleven for a few years now… which would explain the exuberant mood the stylists and Effie was showing. It was _their_ district after all that broke the draught.

"I thought they hated me," Katniss said in a surprised tone.

"They must have liked your guts."

They must have 'liked' it so much they wanted to see her be preyed on.

"This would mean sponsors, right?" Katniss asked him quietly just before she retired for the night.

The girl was worried. He could see it and it was not without cause. She was rubbish at making herself well-liked and she was not good at making friends but an eleven was an impression. Effie could work with that, just as she could work with Peeta's eight.

"Yeah," he nodded. "It'll give you a chance at sponsors."

He lingered by the hallway until Katniss shut the door and then he went to his room. He was lying on his bed, drink in hand when he felt himself being watched.

Effie was standing by his door, blue eyes on him.

"Did you not promise to be sober for them?"

"No. I said I'll mentor if they leave me to my drinking," he retorted. "I'm pacin' it. Quit worrying."

He turned his head towards her when she remained where she was. Haymitch raised an eyebrow in silent query for her continued presence. That was when she turned and walked off, glancing once over her shoulder at him.

It drew a sigh from him. He knew her long enough to be able to understand her without them having to exchange words so he pushed himself off the bed and followed her to the rooftop.

He caught a shimmer of the forcefield as he came to a stand next to her. Effie was staring at the streets below, quietly taking in the scene of Capitol citizens partying throughout the city.

"An eleven…" she finally said. "What does it _truly_ mean? Do not try to patronize me by telling me that it is a good score. Eight is a good score but an eleven… We've never had anything more than a nine."

"You know, I had a ten…" he said teasingly. "What do you make of that?"

"Haymitch," she sighed. "She shot an arrow at the Gamemakers. I had to endure a lengthy lecture from Lucia about breaching protocol. I expected a low score. I expected them to take it out on Katniss by giving her a score that would be so unfavourable in the eyes of any sponsors."

"They are taking it out on her, just not in the way _you_ or any other Capitols here expect. They gave the girl an eleven, Effs. They've painted a fuckin' target on her back."

"Sponsors would give their money to an eleven," Effie argued. "How is that punishing … I do not understand."

"You're thinkin' the way sponsors would, puttin' yourself in their shoes, choosing the tributes with the best odds and the best score to place their bets on - thinking like a Capitol, basically," Haymitch sneered. "That ain't the way, sweetheart. Think like a Career here for a second, like Brutus and Enobaria. Think the way Gloss and Cashmere would. Picture yourself watching Caesar announcin' the scores, imagine yourself now with the knowledge that there's another tribute with a score higher than what your tribute got… What sort of advice will you give _your_ tribute now?"

"I do not have to imagine. We had that year after year, tributes with better scores than our own. I'll tell them to stay away."

"I said _Career_. You're thinkin' the way mentors of outlying district would. Let's try again, as mentor in the District One, what will you tell your tributes tonight before they go to bed? What will you tell the boy from District One who's got a nine when Katniss from District Twelve, has an eleven?"

"Take out the threat and he might put himself back on top…"

"Exactly," he snapped his fingers together, "and right now, sweetheart, Katniss is a threat to the Careers which makes the Games even dangerous for her. You can bet that after the bloodbath, they'd go straight into huntin' her down."

For a long while, there was only silence. Haymitch said nothing to allow Effie a moment for that information to sink in.

"Well," she breathed out and plastered a smile on her face. "It is spilled milk. Katniss did what she did and she has been evaluated. There is nothing we can do now and I'd like to believe that with a score of eleven, it will balance the odds for her. I have to. We must _always_ look at the bright side of things, Haymitch. Always look at the bright side… We can work the score for sponsors. We must."

"I don't look at the bright side of things, sweetheart. That's why I have you. My job's to assess the situation as it plays out."

Effie angled her body towards him.

"We will still try, won't we? We have a chance, Haymitch. A small chance but a chance all the same to get one of them home. They are different – Katniss and Peeta. I know you are not blind to it. I will work the sponsors. It is what I do best."

 _Home_.

Hadn't Aspen asked him the same so many years ago?

_"…_ _you'll do all you can to get her back home alive."_

He had stormed out of his house but here he was put in a position where he could actually try to grant his old friend one last wish but what would also mean sentencing the boy to die. That boy whom he first met the night Aspen died, the same boy who offered comfort to countless of people with his words.

For the first time in his mentoring duty, he felt a sudden desperate surge to bring them _both_ home. He did not want to have to choose between Aspen's daughter and the boy who loved her.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aspen asking Haymitch to get Katniss home is in Extracting A Promise and Haymitch first meeting Peeta during the mine explosion is in Goodbye, Old Friends of this fic.


	30. Goodbye, Mags

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Haymitch knows that Mags' odds are not that great. So he goes to say goodbye and in the process, gave Finnick the opening he needed with Katniss.

**Goodbye, Mags**  
_(41 years old)_

Haymitch entered her room without an invitation just in time to see her press a handkerchief to her cheek.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” she nodded, putting on a smile. “Oh, let me…”

She crossed the room to reach him, taking the gold bangle to fasten it on his wrist.

“It is important that – that we are a team.” Her voice was soft but it carried in the room. “Katniss and Peeta needs to know that we are – “

“They know, sweetheart.”

At some point, he thought it was silly to have a tangible object marking them as a team because even without anything gold, _he_ knew they were all in this together but Effie always loved a show.

“Listen,” he touched her hand and she stilled her movement, glancing up at him curiously. “I’m going out. Thought you should know before you worry yourself, got enough on your plate as it is.”

Effie blinked in surprise.

“Why, Haymitch, that … is very considerate of you. Although, I do not think Chaff is allowed to leave this building for – “

“Yeah, no it’s not Chaff and I ain’t going to the bar. It’s… I have to see her,” Haymitch muttered, gently prying Effie’s fingers from his hand. “Mags… I need to say – “

“I understand,” Effie nodded.

She had seen his Games and she had worked with him long enough to know his history with Mags.

“Don’t wait up,” he told her.

He was not sure how long he would be gone. This could very well be the last time he could see and talk to Mags, after all. There was a plan in place to extract the tributes but even so, there was no absolute guarantee that in her old age, Mags would last that far in the Games for them to rescue her. The objective of the plan had always been Katniss. The others knew that and to the best of their abilities, would try to ensure the success of that mission which could also mean their deaths.

The elevator continued whirring as it made its way down, and it felt impossibly long for it to reach the fourth floor. The glint on his wrist caught his attention. It was such an unfamiliar sight. He twisted the bangle around, the corner of his lips quirked into a smile at the thought of Effie shopping for it.

The elevator slid to a stop and the doors opened to a hallway. Surprisingly enough considering what had just happened during the interviews, the hallway was deserted. Still, Haymitch spied the cameras blinking on the different corners. Whether or not there were Peacekeepers present, they were all still being monitored.

Haymitch wasn’t sure if his night rendezvous was permitted but the worse that could happen was Peacekeepers coming over to throw him out of Four’s living quarters. Even so, that would take a few minutes and those few minutes were all he needed.

He never knew that his mother was going to die but with Mags, there was the advantage and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to at least pay her a visit. Mags had in her own small way filled the void his mother left behind. She had known him since he was a brooding and arrogant sixteen year old. She had given him a persona to play for the Games and when he won, she had been there to warn him that he was in it for life, a train that he would never get off.

“Hey,” Haymitch mumbled a greeting when Finnick pulled open the door just a crack. “Mags… is she asleep already?”

“No,” Finnick step back to let him in, “don’t think anyone can sleep tonight. Come in.”

Four’s living quarters was warm and cozy. There was a fire roaring in the fire place and the display had been set to a setting familiar to their district – the waves gently lapping on the shore. He supposed, if this was to be their last night, they would rather have reminders of home than that of the Capitol.

When she spotted him, Mags gave him a toothless smile.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick,” Haymitch commented, nodding at the coffee table which was laden with plates of food.

Haymitch take a seat next to Mags on the sofa and reached out to touch her hand, old and wrinkled.

He felt a sudden spike of anger. Mags should be home in District Four where she would be safe, living the last of her years by the sea.

Haymitch ran his thumb over a line of pale vein running down her knobbly knuckles. “Be brave, yeah?”

As long as he could remember, Mags always had a kind smile unless provoked and she afforded him that familiar smile as she nodded at him. She patted his cheek and mouthed something so soft that he had to bring his ear to her lips to hear.

“Don’t let them see you’re afraid.”

He chuckled and smirked at the advice that Mags herself had given him when he was sixteen. She leaned into him and he brought his arm around her shoulder, propping his chin on her head.

He caught Finnick’s gaze over the top of her head.

“She needs sleep even for a few hours,” Finnick mentioned. “I’ve been trying to but…”

He understood.

Sleeping would mean the hours passing by in a blink. Before you know it, it would be time for the arena. He remembered the night before his Games and how he desperately wanted to stretch out the time, to catch just one more moment before it was all gone.

When it came to it, he could easily overpower Mags and carry her to bed - another reminder of just how frail she was and how _she_ should not be in the arena - but he didn’t.

“You need your rest,” Haymitch pointed out half-heartedly because a selfish part of him wanted to spend just a little more time with her.

Her answer to that was to rest her head on his shoulder. His arm was still around her so he gave her a gentle squeeze. That was when she caught sight of the bracelet on his wrist. She touched it gently with a hint of curiousity.

“Effie,” he informed her. “She gave it together with Peeta’s token earlier. Said that we need to look like a – “

He broke off and his gaze snapped to Finnick.

“It’s important that we are a team,” he whispered, repeating Effie’s words earlier and then he chuckled in amusement. “A wise old woman once said that _‘you don’t have to be_ it, _you just have to pretend to_ be _it.”_

Mags blinked slowly, a frown already forming.

“Okay…” Finnick said slowly, not quite understanding him.

“Appearance matter,” Haymitch declared, “so,” he squeezed the bangle out of his wrist and handed it to Finnick, “you have to appear to be on _our_ team.”

Finnick raised a dubious eyebrow.

“Katniss will know that it’s from _me_ – no one else will, not even the Gamemakers - and that will trump anything that you’d try to tell her in the arena tomorrow to convince her into an alliance. She’ll know that I trust you,” he spoke quietly, low enough that the bugs would not have picked it.

“Win her trust with a bangle?” Finnick snorted. “Don’t think your girl’s that – “

“The bangle will give you somewhere to start with. Katniss ain’t going to trust you at all so you’d have to earn it.”

“Wonderful,” Finnick rolled his eyes.

“The best way to do that is to protect the boy, if you can. She wants him alive so he’s your best bet. It won’t work without Peeta.”

“I’m aware which is why the plan’s to get them _both_ out,” Finnick pointed out. He lifted the bangle. “Thanks for this.”

“Stay alive so you can give it back to me.”

“No promises but I’ll try,” Finnick wink. “Same old advice, huh? Stay alive.”

“That,” Haymitch chuckled, “and I told her to remember who the real enemy is.”

“Cryptic. Katniss understood it?”

“She’ll figure out in time.”

In the midst of that conversation, Mags’ breathing had evened out and when he glanced down, it was to see her with her eyes closed.

“Our conversation must have made her bored,” Haymitch remarked.

Gently, he laid her down on the sofa against the cushion. Her face was angled towards the display of the ocean and waves.

“Thank you,” Haymitch whispered because he had _never_ thanked her for what she had done for him before.

He pressed a kiss on her head and wished that on her last night, she would have at least one pleasant dream.

“She could die tomorrow,” Finnick said out of the blue.

His gaze was fixed on the bangle, twisting it around very much in the same manner that Haymitch had done.

“I know,” Haymitch exhaled, running his fingers through his hair. “We have to accept it when it happens. She’s lead a long life. We can… We should take comfort in that.”

“Let’s just hope her death won’t be for nothing.”

“Not just hers,” Haymitch muttered, watching Finnick.

He could lose Finnick, too and the boy was his, just like Katniss and Peeta. Haymitch wanted to apologise to him if it seemed that he had chosen Katniss and Peeta over him because even if Finnick had volunteered to be part of the plan and to do his part for the revolution, the plan involved saving Katniss and Peeta, while the life of the other tributes became expandable, a sacrifice for the greater good.

 “Are you going to see Chaff now?”

“He won’t let me. He won’t have any goodbyes and frankly, I don’t think I could do it but I had to see Mags, you know?”

“Yeah,” Finnick nodded and stood up to walk Haymitch to the door. “I’ll see you again.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter in which Haymitch first met Mags was in Chap 5 - The Mentor That Groomed a Victor


	31. District Eleven: Alliance

**District 11: Alliances  
** _40 years old_

Haymitch leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled together to press them on his lips as he watched the screen.

She crept along the tree branches, so comfortable in her movement and gait, while Katniss remained oblivious to her presence.

"Is she going to be a problem?" Effie voiced out the question that had fleeted through his mind. "Katniss cannot afford to worry about the Careers down the tree she's on _and_ the Eleven's tribute at the same time."

Haymitch struggled to remember her name but gave it up as a lost cause. Tributes were often reduced to the districts they belonged to, and their names would only be remembered if they proved to have some worth in entertainment for the Capitols. Even Career sponsors, when asked, could never tell the tributes' names until a time came when the tribute remained amongst the last left in the arena. On the other hand, the mentors avoided remembering other tributes' names to guard their own hearts and interests.

"Don't think Eleven's a threat right now," Haymitch answered quietly. "The girl won't attack Katniss now and risk attracting the attention of the Careers – won't be a smart move."

Up in her own tree, she whistled for Katniss' attention. Haymitch's heart stopped beating for that split second, worried as he was that Katniss might react purely out of instinct by doing something to protect herself, harm the girl and give away Rue's position to the Careers.

He wasn't sure how he would face Chaff if his tribute killed one of Chaff's own. Ultimately, given how the Games were played, that was inevitable but there were usually no hard feelings between mentors. Still, there was always that small, uncomfortable moment of guilt. To this day, Haymitch vividly remember the year Finnick couldn't look Johanna in the eye after one of his tributes had crept and murdered her girl in her sleep.

Fortunately, Katniss had no bow on her to let her arrow fly. All she had was a knife which she was not willing to lose at this crucial moment by flinging it on Eleven's tribute. Rue, of course, was smarter and sneakier than anyone truly gave her credit for. She made a sawing motion and repeatedly pointed to the branch above where Katniss was perched. In the viewing lounge, Haymitch received the message clear as day. It would seem, so did Katniss.

"Good girl," he muttered under his breath. "Chaff's girl is smart."

"Yes," Effie nodded when it became clear to her what Rue intended for Katniss to do. "Still, this situation can easily go out of control. Tracker jacker…" she shook her head, pulling out information on her tablet as it appeared the moment Caesar Flickerman began explaining it on national television.

Haymitch gave the information a quick glance when Effie showed him the tablet.

"Find antidote for the venom – just in case," Haymitch instructed.

"We do not have that kind of money."

"Just do it – I want to know that the Gamemakers have at least put that in the inventory. Let me worry about the money when it comes to it."

"Already thinking two steps ahead, eh?" Chaff sauntered into Twelve's private viewing lounge. "An alliance – a first for our districts, am I right?"

"Yeah," Haymitch chuckled when Chaff laughed at them being mentors in an alliance. "You betting on the girl?"

"The boy," Chaff answered truthfully. "Thresh got what it takes to actually see this through but Rue's holding well on her own. She found your girl after all. So we'll see how this plays out."

For the most part, the alliance went as well as can be expected. As the day developed, they divided tasked amongst themselves, took turns keeping watch throughout the night and devised plans to survive by taking down other tributes a peg, but it was clear to Haymitch as the alliance progressed that somewhere along the line, it had shifted to a tentative friendship especially so when Katniss offered Rue a piece of the groosling she shot and they began talking of the supposed romance involving Peeta.

"She better not fucked up the story line," Haymitch grumbled low enough for only Effie to hear.

Chaff might be one of his best friends here but there were strategy involving his districts that he did not disclose to anyone except Effie.

On his end, Chaff was watching the development between Katniss and Rue with his arms crossed and a slight creased between his brows.

Friendships in the arena had never born anyone any good news, and his gut feeling proved to be right when Rue was speared and Katniss lost her grip.

Next to him, he heard a sharp intake of breath and saw Effie struggling to control her emotions. Wordlessly, he handed her his handkerchief when a tear fell the moment Katniss began singing. Effie nodded her head in thanks, dabbing her cheeks with as much poised as she could in the presence of another mentor.

When the camera zoomed in to Katniss crying as the song she was singing came to an end, Effie choked back a sob.

Chaff shot her a look at her reaction, the confusion visibly displayed on his face. He had always cast her as just another Capitol but Haymitch knew that was far from the truth.

The canon sounded strangely loud and unbearable to Haymitch. He clenched his fist to stop himself from flinching. On screen, Katniss had bent forward to kiss Rue on her temple and at that act Haymitch pinched the bridge of his nose and drew a breath. She had shown far too much.

"Oh, no," Effie covered her hand over her mouth as they all watched Katniss began to arrange flowers around Rue's small, lifeless body. "That had _never_ happened before by one tribute to another."

There were rules in the Capitol and especially in the Games that one should never deviate from. Effie knew that from _years_ of Capitol upbringing and _he_ learnt that the hard way. Giving Rue a funeral of sorts and to hold the Capitol accountable for what they did was to put a noose around one's neck and that was exactly what Katniss was doing.

"I have to handle this," Chaff said heavily. The laughter that was on his face and voice just a day ago was gone. "And your girl..."

Chaff shook his head and left, leaving his sentence hanging.

Haymitch knew what his friend meant to say. His girl just did something no one had expected. She had shown humanity and compassion, and even in Rue's last moments had remained steadfast as a friend by her side.

Later during the day, long after the Capitol had retrieved Rue's body, Chaff transferred the bread meant for Rue into Twelve's electronic cart.

"Send it," Chaff popped by to instruct him.

Haymitch could have kept the bread in the cart. What Chaff had done… He was stoking the fire but if Haymitch were to send it as Chaff had requested, he would be sending Katniss a message that he endorsed what she did and by that, he would be feeding the flame because whether she realized it or not, Katniss had started something.

He was proud of her. He was anxious and fearful but he was proud of her.

"Don't do it, Haymitch," Effie whispered urgently under her breath. "There will be consequences."

He had endured this too long. His girl was in there doing something, proving something.

"She's making a statement. Eleven wants to make theirs and I should let them. It's their gift. I can't hold it back."

He grabbed the tablet from Effie's hand and sent it.

"My thanks to the people of District Eleven…"

Effie grabbed his hand on the sofa and clutched it tight.

"This is unprecedented," she whispered.

She had every right to sound scared. She was afraid for _them_ and for Katniss in the arena, but Haymitch was aware that District Eleven would pay the price for this, too.

 


	32. The Unexpected Rescuer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by marizpe: I have another prompt, hope you like it and write it please: An eighteen year old Haymitch dealing with crazy fans that claim to be maddly in love with him. That follow him wherever he went outside the training center. Maybe a stalker that has a photoshoped picture of him and her like groom and bride, the kind of stalker that avoid all the security and you find them in your room.

 

**The Unexpected Rescuer  
** _18 years old_

_**tw: molestation** _

Haymitch was winded. He had been weaving in and out of crowds hoping to lose his tail and when he saw the establishment in the distance, he sneaked in. What could have easily been a ten minutes journey had turned into half an hour. With a final glance over his shoulder, Haymitch slid into the booth at the far corner.

Chaff looked his way and chuckled, sliding the bottle of whiskey to him. Haymitch wrinkled his nose at it. His friend swore that any answer to any problem could be found at the bottom of a bottle and while Haymitch indulged him in his drinking once in a while, he really wasn't fond of losing control of his thoughts and mind.

"Still dealing with that crazy fan of yours?"

"Yeah," Haymitch gritted his teeth in annoyance. "Bat shit insane with all that psycho-babble about being in love with me and wanting to be with him. Get the fuckin' hint – I don't want to be with her and she's got like - what? - five years on me or something."

"You could always take her for a spin, have some fun," Chaff shrugged.

The very idea was unappealing to him. His mother would have blanched at the thought. He had been raised to always respect the fairer sex and to treat them the way he would want his mother to be treated.

"You know I ain't like that."

"You're too green, boy," Chaff laughed in his face.

Haymitch shot an alarmed look around him. He was trying hard to keep a low profile and had no desire for Chaff's laughter to attract any attention to him.

"Whatever. I  _told_  you – you should have gotten those bodyguards with you when you leave the Training Centre."

"No," Haymitch scowled. "I ain't one of those."

He had always scoffed at the celebrities and politicians sitting on Snow's government walking around in public with bodyguards. He didn't need them.

"She ain't dangerous, just crazy."

"It's a fine line," Chaff told him in all seriousness. "Maybe drop the bad boy persona Mags got you on and they won't be so hung up on you."

"I'm not on any persona!" Haymitch said indignantly. "That was for the Games to get sponsors but now I'm just… me."

He hated how uncertain he sounded. He wasn't trying to be  _anybody_  here in the Capitol but what if the front Mags had asked him to put up during his Games had never left him?

"Alright," Chaff raised a hand. "It's three in the morning – crowd should have thinned out by now. Let's head back."

The Capitol was still very much foreign to him but with Chaff around, he navigated them through short cuts and alleyways, and Haymitch remained completely hidden from the one woman who had been following him everywhere he went.

"I'll see you later," Haymitch waved when the elevator opened on the eleventh floor.

Walking into the Penthouse, Haymitch was careful to keep his footsteps quiet. The last thing he needed was for Amara Varvari to be woken up from her slumber and give him a lecture. He  _hated_  his escort and he was just waiting for the old goat to retire so there would be a new replacement. Chaff had assured him that this should be happening soon considering Amara's age.

Haymitch turned the knob to his room silently.

The only reason he had not shouted in surprise was because he was too shocked. His voice fled him and he could only stare in abject horror at the sight before him.

Haymitch took several steps back, feeling trapped and claustrophobic.

"I've been waiting for you," she smiled at him coyly and beckoned him over. "Come here, baby."

Haymitch swallowed the lump in his throat and averted his gaze.

She was naked in his bed without a single stitch of clothing on her, and she seemed to be comfortable with being nude in a man's bed since she was languidly lounging on it. A hand was extended out to him but Haymitch remained rooted.

"Haymitch," she crooned.

At the sound of his name, Haymitch lifted his gaze and it immediately fell on her breasts. They were huge and round and ' _they're so big'_. They were unlike anything he had ever seen. His eyes roamed her body and he felt something twitched. If he were to ignore the heavily made-up face and the unnaturally green dyed hair, his Capitol stalker was hot.

 _And her breasts…_  His teenage brain thought once more.

"What – what are you doing here?" he croaked out.

"Don't you know?" she pouted and then she batted her eyelashes. "I was waiting for you. Do you like what you see, baby?"

"There are security guards downstairs. You shouldn't be able to – There are security guards."

"Of course there are, silly. But they would never stop Haymitch Abernathy's girlfriend from visiting him now, would they?"

Something violent roiled inside of him.

"You're not my girlfriend," he spat. "She's dead and you ain't her."

The anger propelled him forward. Haymitch crossed the distance towards the bed, grabbed her arm and hauled her roughly to her feet. If he hoped to scare her and chase her away, his action only had the opposite effect.

She sighed dramatically.

"You're so aggressive and so strong," she whispered the words seductively in his ears.

Her hand squeezed his bicep.

"What else are you going to do to me tonight?"

Her tongue licked the skin below his jaw and he flinched.

"Stop it," he pushed her off him but she was persistent.

"Are you sad about your dead girlfriend?" she asked, acting all innocent and then her eyes gleamed. "I can make you forget all about her. We'll make each other scream, what do you say?"

He was never given the chance to reply. Haymitch yelped when he felt her hand rubbing the front of his pants.

It left him frozen, his muscles tensed. He was stunned silence to find her so forward with no qualms taking what she desired. In his eighteen years of life, Haymitch had not had many social contacts with women and even worse, his sexual experiences were limited to making out and fooling around with his girlfriend after school. To find someone who willingly offered her body to him was making him apprehensive and to be honest, he had no idea how to act in this situation. He wanted to run away. He wanted her far away from him but his body had other ideas the moment she slipped her hand down his pants.

"Oh, you're liking this – I can tell. You're hard. Talk to me, baby, tell me what you like. Tell me what you want me to do," she moaned huskily as her fingers stroke him into hardness.

He clenched his jaws.

"You have to…  _stop_ ," he said once more, trying hard to control his breathing and to not let his voice betray how much this was affecting him. "This ain't right. This – holy shit."

She had dropped to her knees and had taken him in her mouth. His hand shot to her head, his fingers fisting around her green hair.

Haymitch was hard and throbbing and she was doing wonderful things. His skin was on fire and his blood was roaring in his ears. It felt so good but in his mind, he was fighting a battle between desperately needing her to stop and taking what was being offered to him so freely.

She blew against him and the cooling sensation made him gripped the back of her head tighter. She took it wrongly and began to earnestly suck him off. Haymitch looked down, mesmerised by the sight of her green head bobbing up and down, and the sight of his cock sliding in and out of her mouth.

The sudden loud knock of the door startled them both. It opened to reveal his escort standing there, confronted by the sight of him with his pants down and his cock in a girl's mouth.

"Oh my," she screeched.

They looked at each other and for once in his life, Haymitch was so glad to see the old goat.

"This isn't what it looks like," he hurried to explain, pulling himself free with a soft pop from her mouth and pushing the girl away from him.

She fell on her bottom ungracefully.

Haymitch pulled his pants up and shoved himself inside, wincing at the scratch of fabric on his still sensitive part. He zipped and there was still a bulge but he could feel himself slowly going limp.

"I hope you had enough senses in you to use the necessary protection, Mr. Abernathy."

"No, I didn't mean -" he stopped short at her thunderous expression. "I came back from the bar with Chaff and she was in my room –  _naked!_  She's been following me around  _everywhere_."

"Mr. Abernathy," Amara sighed exasperatedly. "What you do with your time is your business. If you've decided to engage the services of a … prostitute," she said the word carefully, "I cannot stop you but do not make such -"

"I am not a whore!" the girl spoke for the first time. "I love him and I have been trying to convince him that we should be together! We are  _made_ for each other. We are soul mates."

Haymitch flinched at the absurdity of it all.

"I came here tonight to surprise him, to give him a good time and make him realise how good I can be for him. You are just spoiling it now, please leave."

Amara blinked and Haymitch could tell that she was less than impressed with her. "Young lady…"

"See!" Haymitch jumped in on that. "A  _stalker_."

"Leave, Mr. Abernathy," Amara gestured and pursed her lips. "I will handle this and make sure she does not talk about what transpired in this room."

Haymitch did not need to be told twice. He fled and pounded on Chaff's door one floor down until he opened it. When asked, Haymitch kept his mouth shut. One day, he would tell Chaff about it but right now, he felt sick to his stomach.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amara isn't my favourite person but I think she walked in at the most appropriate time and saved Haymitch from something. Also, I get goosebumps just typing Haymitch having 'baby' as a pet name, like, that's the last thing anyone should be calling him.
> 
> There's no hayffie in this one-shot :(


	33. Something About Haymitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tone in Between Lives has always been a little dark and gloomy, so here is something light as a treat :)

 

**_Something About Haymitch  
_ ** _(34 years old – 68_ _th_ _Games)_

Haymitch leaned against the elevator wall, arms folded across his chest as he eyed Effie with a smirk featured on his face.

She studiously ignored him which only made him reach out to tug the zipper on the side of her dress. He had his hand swatted away with a glare for his efforts.

"That is quite enough. You had your hand up my dress the entire car ride here," she hissed. "Are you not satiated yet?"

"Question is, are you?" he arched an eyebrow with a smug smile. "You  _enjoyed_  it."

"Be that as it may, now behave yourself."

"It's an exclusive party. No one's gonna be there except for us and my friends so stop getting your panties in a twist. Oh, wait," he pretended to be shocked by it, "you're not wearing any, are you? Because… here it is."

Haymitch pulled the silk fabric from his jacket pocket where he had stashed it earlier in the car. Effie flushed but gave him as good as she got.

"You like knowing that I am not wearing anything under this dress. Does it leave you hot and bothered?"

With that, she strutted out, chins up high, knowing that he was watching her.

Finnick's newly acquired loft had Effie going ' _ohh'_  and  _'ahh'_  as they boy gave her the tour. Haymitch followed behind at a more languid pace, rolling his eyes every so often at something that had Effie excited. His hand was in the pocket, fingering the silk lace and wondering just which room in Finnick's house he could drag Effie into for a quiet time alone.

"And now, for the room I love  _best,_ " Finnick declared.

With that maddening smile that had sent half of Panem on its knees, Finnick threw open the door to his own private swimming pool. The ceiling was made of glass which meant that one could lounge by the pool while staring at the night sky, not that it impressed Haymitch much since the Capitol's night sky could never rival District Twelve's.

Truthfully speaking, Haymitch still did not understand why Finnick had to go out of his way to get an apartment here in the Capitol. It would be just like giving it to the Capitol's demand to have him in the city nearly round the clock. Granted, Finnick had assured both Chaff and himself that this penthouse apartment was not meant for any of his  _appointments_  and was only intended for him to have someplace to retreat when he was in the Capitol, Haymitch still found this unnecessary. Still, he wouldn't be the first Victor to have a house here.

"This is simply marvellous," Effie exclaimed. "Just imagine the pool parties that you can throw…"

"Yes," Finnick nodded enthusiastically. "Chaff was for the idea altogether."

Haymitch snorted. "Of course, he is. He ain't gonna pass up the chance when there'll be half-naked girls soaking around in that pool."

"You wouldn't? Effie asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

Her hand was casually resting on her upper thigh and Haymitch was suddenly reminded of the fact that she was  _naked_  underneath that dress. Perhaps they wouldn't need a room. They had never done it in the pool and he wondered how it would feel to  _fuck_  her in that pool.

Except there was that one little problem – he didn't know how to swim. As tempting as it would be, he prefer to avoid the place altogether.

"Not interested," he muttered.

Haymitch was just about to move away when he felt himself being pushed from behind. He jerked forward, tried to grab on to something, lost his footing and fell face first into the water.

The first thing Haymitch realised was the sting on his face followed by the sharp pain in both his nostrils as the water rushed in. Haymitch emerged, eyes wide and mouth open, gasping for breath. At the edge, he saw Chaff doubled in half and laughing, and he also saw Effie pulling herself up the metal stairs of the pool.

He must have grabbed her as he was falling.

"You flashed everyone," Chaff guffawed. "You ain't wearing nothing under there and holy shit, sunshine, your wig's all flat on your head."

Effie marched over to where Chaff was and delivered a slap that had Finnick rooted to the spot and staring at them in a stupefied expression.

"Chaff Johnson," Effie thundered. "You're – You're…. This dress is couture! And that is a new suit that I got for Haymitch!"

He could hear Effie screaming at his best friend but he was also profoundly aware of the water rushing in his ears and blood roaring in his veins. His feet couldn't touch solid ground, only the tip of his toes and he was furiously kicking his legs to get  _somewhere_ , preferably the end of the pool for leverage to pull himself up. All he was doing was flailing helplessly in the deep end.

_How deep is this fucking pool?_

"Eff -" he sputtered.

The water was in his eyes and going in his mouth as he tried to call out, and he was panicking. There was no other way to put it but he was panicking at the zero progress he was making.

"Oh relax, I'll send that suit to have it dry clean," Chaff chuckled. "Pull the pole out of your ass. Although, I didn't  _see_  any which means it must be far up your ass."

On any other occasion, Haymitch would have told him off for speaking to Effie that way but as it was… he was trying hard to keep his head above water. To make it worse, it seemed as if he was moving far away from the edge.

Was this how he would meet his end, drowning in a pool while his friend and escort bicker because no one actually  _noticed_  him.

"He's drowning!" Finnick's sudden cry rang out sharply.

 _Finally_ , Haymitch thought,  _someone noticed._

"What? Oh my – Finnick do something!" Effie hit the boy's arm. "Save him!"

"Oh shit," Chaff exclaimed, turning to where Haymitch was desperately trying to tread water. "What the fuck, Haymitch?"

Finnick had already jumped into the pool and was swimming towards Haymitch. He positioned himself at Haymitch's back and with an arm around his chest, Finnick started swimming back.

"Chaff, you stupid man," Effie rebuked. "You have been friends with him for  _years_  and shouldn't you know if he cannot swim?"

"Shut up, Trinket. You're  _his_  escort, shouldn't you know?"

"I am  _not_  the one to push him inside!"

"I'll kill you," Haymitch glared at Chaff. "I'll fucking kill you."

"Sorry, buddy, I didn't know. It was all in the spirit of having fun, yeah?"

"Fuck you, Chaff," Haymitch heaved a breath, pushing a wet strand of hair away from his face. "There's no fucking sea in Twelve for me to learn to swim."

"Hey," Chaff frowned. "You told me you play in the pond as a kid."

"Which was shallow!"

"Alright, alright," Finnick intervened. "We'll teach Haymitch how to swim. How about that, Haymitch? Consider it repayment for all the time you taught me chess, yes? I'll start you off easy – you got to learn how to float and tread water. You'll never drown if you can keep yourself afloat."

"No," Haymitch pushed himself up.


End file.
